Unbounded
by Jessa4865
Summary: Someone is coming after Olivia...but things aren't always what they seem. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Unbounded

Jezyk

Spoilers: It's set vaguely in the present time, but kind of pointedly ignored Undercover. So let's just say anything before that.

Disclaimer: They're not mine, but since the writers won't let them have any fun, it's my civic duty to make sure they do.

Warning: There is some nasty language and violence in this. The language is sprinkled throughout, but the violence will have a specific warning on it so you can skip that part if you wish.

Part One

It was a few minutes after three in the morning when Fin bid her good night, to which she'd replied that there wasn't all that much left of it and that the first half hadn't given her much hope for it being good. By the time she'd gotten through the front door of her building, his taillights were long gone. She didn't mind, considering he'd been nice enough to offer her a ride home. The weather had been unseasonably warm all day and so she hadn't worn a jacket when she'd been called back in despite the change in temperature. The long walk back home would have left her freezing.

In years prior, Elliot would have driven her home, but then again, in years prior, Elliot would have answered his phone when he was supposed to be catching. Elliot had been acting differently, though, his temper shorter than normal, his usually clear eyes clouded and dark. In the few months since she'd noticed the change, she'd given up trying to get him to talk about it. He was fine. His family was fine. His mood was fine. Everything was so fucking fine that she'd stopped asking. And when she paid attention, he did appear to be fine, at least around everyone else.

It seemed to her that he was simply pulling away from her, a pattern which, if she were being honest, had started before he and Kathy had gotten back together. The man was incapable of juggling two such intense relationships and so had chosen his family. She could hardly blame him. If she'd had a family, she might have done the same.

The only real problem was that her partner was the only family she had.

Sure, there was Simon. A half brother, the shared half being the dark, desperate, scary side of her that she pretended didn't exist. Which made the relationship a bit strained at best.

So when she'd picked up the phone to an irate Captain Cragen demanding to know where her partner was, she'd had no one else to call. She'd covered for Elliot, out of instinct, only to mentally curse him out as soon as she'd disconnected the call. Fin's number seemed to appear out of nowhere on her phone, and she requested his presence at her side while her own partner had better things to do. Fin had grumbled about the disturbance, a soft feminine laugh in the background revealing his reasons. But unlike her partner, Fin had answered, and he'd put his ruined plans behind him at once. She'd called Elliot twice, once on her way to the hospital to meet the victim. That first time was to chew him out for not giving her any warning that he was going AWOL. The second call had been back at the house, just before Fin had offered her a lift home. She'd been worried then, silently panicking that Elliot was lying dead somewhere with her rotten message on his phone informing him that he was several things that would make a sailor blush. She'd been so relieved to hear his voice when he answered that she hadn't had time to process his angry "fuck off" before he hung up on her.

With her mood firmly back to being pissed off at her partner, she pushed through her door, kicked off her shoes, and headed for her bedroom. There were only a few hours before she was due back at work, doomed to face her pissy, absentee partner and the boss who would be none too happy that both she and Fin had ducked out without filing a single piece of paperwork. Tugging her shirt off and discarding it on the hamper, she started the shower. No matter how tired she was, she'd never dare touch her bed without washing away the memories of yet another rape.

Her pants wound up somewhere in the vicinity of the overflowing hamper, which was good enough for her. While the shower was filing the bathroom with steam, she returned to the bedroom to drop her watch on the night stand. She kicked past the tank top and shorts she slept in, admonishing herself for having grown so defeated by her job in recent years that she'd become such a slob. She laughed at herself when she tripped over her pants on the bathroom floor, pausing long enough to gather the sloppy pile from that night, toss it in the hamper, and close the lid.

Guilt surrounded her the moment she stepped under the hot stream of water. Her mind immediately went to Abigail Powley, the young woman she'd met that night. All the woman had wanted was to wash away the filth in her memory. Olivia had take one look at the messy, softly curling hair around Abigail's face and known instantly that all the evidence and any real hope of finding her assailant was actually washed away. Unfortunately, for all of Abigail's desperate scrubbing, the filth and violation were all that remained.

Olivia hurried through washing her hair, realizing the futility of her own actions as well. The sympathetic pain she felt for all the victims was never so easily bested. Hell, most of the time she was sure that she carried emotional scars from each and every victim. She comforted herself with the thought that at least they were the details of someone else's nightmare that would haunt her dreams, rather than her own. As real as the pain was that she felt, she knew the victim's own pain was so much worse and she chastised herself to keep that in mind in the future.

Wrapping herself in a towel, Olivia emerged from the foggy bathroom and took a brief chill from the sudden change in temperature. She dropped the towel on the floor, having, for the moment, forgotten all about her earlier anger at herself for her habit of discarding everything on the floor behind her. Her mind was on getting under the covers as soon as possible to ward off the cold. She pulled on clean underwear and headed for where she'd left her pajamas.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at her clothes, the clothes she'd kicked out of her way, the clothes that were laying across her bed. Goosebumps rose on her damp skin, the memory so clear in her mind. She looked behind her, seeing an old sweatshirt lying where she'd obviously left it. She forced herself to take a deep breath, reminded herself to pick up her clothes before she scared herself to death, and pulled on her pajamas.

She was so tired that she almost fell into bed right then, but her career and the ever-present statistics of violence against women drove her to double check that the front door was locked. The shoes she'd abandoned by the door made her laugh out loud, thinking about how, if there were ever a fire, she'd most certainly burn up long before she escaped the obstacle course that was her home.

The shoes distracted her so much that she barely even registered that she had actually forgotten to lock the door.

When Elliot finally showed his face at the precinct, it was just before eleven the next morning. Olivia had already been snapped at about the paperwork on Abigail's case, completed the damn forms, and then been questioned as to her partner's noticeable absence by the time Elliot, rumpled and hungover, slumped into his chair. It wasn't the first time in recent history that Elliot had come in looking like something the cat dragged in, but it was the first time he'd made it so obvious.

Cragen, whose mood had been steadily deteriorating all day, was disproportionately pleased to see him. Olivia figured it was because he'd grown bored with yelling at her. From her perspective, she saw him stand and approach the door. She thought about warning her partner, mentioning that he was still wearing the same suit from the day before, pointing out there was a stain on his shirt. But his angry words from the night before rang in her ears, cursing at her for calling, yelling at her when she'd truly been worried about him. Selfishly, she thought getting ripped by Cragen might be enough to bring back her partner, and so, she stayed quiet.

Cragen turned away, moving to the side door of his office, talking to a man Olivia couldn't identify. Something about him was familiar, nagging at her. But her attention was drawn away by the sound of a pissed female voice, only fury clear from so far away, muffled by Elliot's head as he held the phone to his ear. Elliot's eyes met hers, confusion reflecting on his face. That was when she recognized the voice as her own, the words spoken in anger the night before seeming rather harsh in the light of day.

He pressed a button, silencing her tirade. "Jesus, Liv, what was with you last night?"

The remorse she'd felt for yelling morphed right back into anger. "What was with me? You were catching, El, and when you didn't answer your damn phone, Cragen screamed at me." She stared at his disbelieving face and it only upset her more. "Yeah, so I'm pissed. Deal with it."

"I wasn't catching last night." His voice sounded forceful and sure, however, even as the words left his lips, his eyes darted to his calendar, clearly checking himself. "I'm not catching until the fourteenth."

"Today is the fifteenth, genius." She watched the dismay cross his face as he looked to his computer for verification.

His face paled. "Jesus Christ!" He looked up at her, his face shocked and sorrowful. "I'm sorry. I must have gotten mixed up."

Part of her wanted to forgive him. But as well as he was playing his honest disorientation, she'd never known him to mix up the date in all the years she'd been his partner. And not knowing the date hardly explained his attitude when she'd called. She averted her eyes, refusing to allow herself to meet his stare, knowing that doing so would result in her unconditional forgiveness. "If you didn't know you were catching, why were you not answering your phone?"

"If I'd know, I would have answered." His attention went back to the phone in his hand, flipping through the log.

"You were obviously avoiding someone, El, so if it wasn't me, who was it?" She was sure she had him. He'd been home with his family and he wasn't exactly a social butterfly, so it limited the number of people who might have been calling.

There seemed to be nothing besides sincerity in his voice when he replied. "I wasn't avoiding you, Liv. I wouldn't do that."

She wanted to believe him, she did. But clearly one of them was stark raving mad. "You told me to 'fuck off,' El. Did I misinterpret that somehow?"

He closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly. "I don't know why I did that. I'm sorry, ok?" he held her stare for a long, quiet moment. "Thanks for covering for me."

She opened her mouth to answer, but any words she might have spoken were lost under Cragen's shout.

"Stabler! Get your ass in here!"

He glanced at the captain's office, his eyes widening when he saw the other figure inside. "Shit, Liv, that's Whitman."

Her mind churned while she searched for the name, but she didn't have to figure it out. Fin let out a low whistle as Elliot climbed to his feet.

"Damn, Stabler, IAB? What did you do?"

Elliot didn't say anything, offering them a shrug. Olivia ignored Fin's eyes on her. She didn't have one fucking clue. Sure, Elliot had been acting a bit strange to her, but it was hardly a matter for IAB.

Giving up any pretense of work, she stared through the open blinds, watching as Whitman delivered a verbal blow that nearly dropped Elliot. She saw the way his whole body wavered, then tensed, the way he crowded Whitman, going nose-to-nose with the man who reminded Olivia of an angry, ugly bulldog. Although she was too far away to see it, she knew Elliot was shaking from unspent rage and she could only wonder where Elliot would dump that fury.

She watched in horror as Elliot pulled his badge and holster free from his belt, throwing them carelessly on Cragen's desk before storming out the door. The sound of the door slamming caught everyone's attention. She ignored the noise of comments from her coworkers. She ignored the gesture from Cragen that beckoned her into his office. No matter what issues she was having with him, Elliot was her partner. She was on his side and nothing was going to change that. So Olivia sprang from her desk, chasing after Elliot, hoping he was going to tell her what was going on.


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

She caught up with him almost a block from the station. He was practically running, trying to burn off some of the rage by exerting himself. She called to him, telling herself that he simply hadn't heard her. She did have to run to make up the distance. Finally, she made contact, pulling on his arm until he stopped. But rather than the irate diatribe she'd braced herself for, Elliot's face was pure devastation. It nearly broke her heart to see him like that.

"What happened?" She guided them closer to a wall to get them out of the parade of foot traffic.

Elliot was indeed shaking, but rather than looking like he was about to punch someone, Olivia was afraid he was about to collapse. Or cry. She wasn't sure which would be worse.

He lifted his hands, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the house. "Dickie showed up at school this morning with a black eye and a split lip." Much to Olivia's alarm, Elliot sniffled, his face crumbling as tears spilled over his cheeks. "He told his teacher that I hit him."

He may as well have hit her at that moment, the weight of his words striking her like a blow so powerful her knees nearly gave out. "What?" It was all she could manage, total disbelief clouding all other words from her grasp.

"The teacher knew I was a cop, so she called it in. IAB's investigating me for abusing my son." His voice broke on the last word. At the same time, his legs folded under him. He'd sunk to the dirty sidewalk before Olivia was able to react.

She crouched beside him, clutching his hand, but she couldn't swear which one of them she was trying to comfort. "Elliot, what happened last night?"

His eyes flashed in anger, but not for long, as though he was too broken by the event to even maintain an emotion. "I didn't hit my son."

"I know that." And she did. Because Elliot had a temper, but he wasn't an abuser. She absolutely knew that. "But he said you did, so something must have happened. Did you yell at him?" She squeezed his hand to reassure him.

He heard an accusation in her words, however, and snatched his hand away. "What is that supposed to mean?"

She pulled back, hurt by his mood change. Still, she preferred it to him crying. At least she was used to dealing with a furious Elliot. "It doesn't mean anything. I've never known you to be a drinker, El. You look like shit. So what happened when you went home last night?"

Elliot stared at her, his brow creased in thought. "I don't know."

She blinked, waiting for the punch line, wondering how he could be joking give the situation. But he didn't smile or wink or exclaim 'gotcha.' She didn't know what to think, let alone say. "Seriously, Elliot, what's going on?"

He shook his head. "I remember leaving work yesterday. And I woke up a little after ten this morning, feeling like shit." His eyes darted around, looking for help from the sidewalk, which wasn't exactly forthcoming. "I know I didn't hit my son."

Olivia winced, knowing she was going to have to dispute his statement and really not wanting to be there to see the effect it would have. "I don't know what to tell you, El, because apparently Dickie says you did."

Elliot choked, coughing and sputtering, showing her the reaction she'd nearly had to her own words. "I would never hurt my son." He shook his head, screwing up his face as tears surfaced again. "I know what that does to a kid."

It frightened her to hear him say that. She knew he wasn't speaking from the perspective of his job. He was speaking as the kid. And while she'd long known Elliot had been a victim of child abuse, she'd never once heard him admit it. She'd simply known from Elliot's tells, from the way he, at times, feared his own temper. His worst fear was turning into a man like his father. She saw that in how desperately he fought against it. And Olivia firmly believed that Elliot would die before he gave up that fight.

Reaching out to grasp his hand, she nodded. "I know. I know you didn't hit him."

Elliot stared at her. "You believe me?" He was genuinely surprised and it told Olivia that she'd made the right call.

"Are you suspended until IAB's done?" She slipped into the lead role, knowing Elliot would instinctively follow her.

He shook his head. "No, Cragen refused Whitman's suggestion." He shrugged with a hint of a smile. "I might have gotten a little upset."

She shook her head, realizing that their hands were still joined, yet doing nothing to abort the contact. "You? Upset? That's preposterous!"

"Yeah, tell me about it. Don't let it get around, I don't want to get a bad rap." He hadn't given any indication that he noticed their hands, but then his hand shifted, his fingers rubbing gently across her skin. "So I should probably go beg for Dad's forgiveness, huh?"

Nodding, Olivia climbed to her feet and tried to ignore the odd feelings his feather light caress stirred in her. "Then we'll go talk to Dickie. Maybe he'll be able to explain what's going on."

Elliot's face, which had only just relaxed, immediately returned to its pinched expression. "No, I'll take care of it." He didn't wait for her to answer, just headed for the precinct, leaving Olivia to wonder what she'd done wrong.

Although she wasn't far behind him, he'd been busy. As soon as she walked into the bull pen, Cragen informed her Elliot was taking the rest of the day off. He was already gone, so she couldn't even ask him what he was going to do. Irritated as all hell with him, Olivia sat down to work on some late reports, several of which would have been Elliot's responsibility, had he decided to work for more than fifteen minutes that day. Still, despite her annoyance at spending the day being a pencil pusher, Olivia was just as pleased to be able to duck out of the office at a reasonable time.

As always, she headed for the shower as soon as she got home, using the short time to relax and organize her thoughts. The following day was her day off and she decided she'd call Casey to see if she was free. Though she had little left in common with the redhead, Olivia figured after the public disgrace she'd faced, Casey could probably stand a nice lunch and movie treat from a friend. Olivia emerged from her shower feeling refreshed and looking forward to the prospect of a girls' day out. IAB, Dickie, even Elliot seemed to have been washed away. She stepped from the steamy room, humming to herself.

Olivia had long been aware, and somewhat tolerant, of her messy habits. There were always dishes in the sink, clothes on the floor, and stacks of unorganized mail in the living room. But there was one thing Olivia was anal retentive about and it was carefully arranging her lingerie. She was forever rushing out the door with little time to spare, and so, she'd made it a practice to be able to easily locate a bra that wouldn't show through a white shirt or panties that wouldn't sit higher on her hips than her pants.

So it chilled her to the bone when she pulled open her drawer to find a tangled mess of underwear.

First she remembered her scare with her pajamas.

Then she remembered how distracted she'd been, tossing stuff all over the place while she'd been scolding herself for doing that very thing.

She knew she'd messed up her previously organized drawer, because she'd been exhausted and hadn't been paying attention, as evidenced by the fact that she hadn't even noticed her pajamas stretched out on the bed.

With a disgruntled snort, she mentally canceled her plans with Casey. She needed to spend the day cleaning up her apartment, sorting her bills, and working through that pile of laundry until she was no longer tempted to toss her clothes anywhere but the hamper.

And so she did, cleaning and sorting and organizing everything she could get her hands on, in between multiple trips to the laundry room to finish that mammoth task. She left the laundry folding until the end, having dumped each dryer load onto her bed as they finished. No use in starting to match up socks only to realize half of them were still drying. As she worked through the pile, carefully putting everything in its right place, she noticed her purple lace thong was missing. After everything else was sorted and put away, the purple bra sat alone on her bed. Had it been any one other than her favorite, she would have let it go, but it was her most comfortable pair of panties, so delicately girlish that she couldn't believe they didn't bunch or pinch or itch.

A thorough search of her apartment turned up nothing. So she retraced her steps to the laundry room, checking to be sure she hadn't dropped them on the way. She rechecked the machines she'd used, washers and dryers both, realizing they were gone. She'd been in and out half the day, and although she'd personally die first, she'd heard a few other tenants complaining about missing intimates from the laundry in the past. Disappointed, she double checked the empty machines and gazed around the laundry room, wishing they would magically appear somewhere to erase the violated way it made her feel to know someone else had them.

Any good mood she might have felt from having her apartment in perfect order, just the way she liked, was gone. She was pissed off about the thought that some woman with whom she might have shared the elevator or met at the door had skulked off with her panties. It grossed her out just thinking about it, but she refused to consider that it might have been a male neighbor, like that skeevy one who lived next to the super, because that was worse. She resolved to put the whole incident out of her head. So she curled up with the novel she read so rarely that she had to remind herself of the lead character's name and found her way off to sleep.

And she blamed the lingering scent of a familiar cologne on having over done the fabric softener.

At ten minutes of four, her phone started to ring.

Instinctively, she checked the display, knowing exactly who would have to nerve to call her at that hour while she was still technically on her day off. Even though she was in a bad mood, she had a bit of mercy for her partner, since she knew his issues were worse than one stolen pair of underpants.

"Yeah, El, what?"

"Uh, is this Liv?" The unfamiliar voice sounded unsure.

Fear shot through her, adrenaline bringing her fully awake by the time she sat up in bed. "What is it? What's wrong? Where's Elliot?"

"I'm guessing Elliot's the guy who's passed out face down on my bar. You're the last person he called, so you're the lucky designated driver."

Her mercy disappeared entirely. "Son of a bitch!" She was already standing up, knowing sleep was out of her reach for the night. "Where is he?" She got the address, grumbling unhappily at the disconnected phone as she dressed and headed out into the cold early morning.

She couldn't believe he'd dared go out to drink so soon, especially with IAB coming down on him. He'd gone into work hungover a day earlier, something Cragen and IAB both would certainly notice when he pulled it again so soon. She was still grumbling when she pushed through the door of the nearly empty bar. Sure enough, there was Elliot, quite literally passed out face down on the bar.

Shaking her head, she smiled at the barkeep. "Thanks for the call."

Her new friend Chuck smiled. "Oh, it's no sweat. Elliot here owes me a hundred bucks." When Olivia scoffed, he shrugged. "I'll pat them down for a cell phone, but I'm not about to go for a wallet."

Olivia wasn't sure she wanted to reach for his wallet either. She thought she might grab his gun, the one she was sure he'd been stupid enough to wear when he was going out to get piss drunk, and shoot him instead. She went for his shoulder, shaking him. "Elliot, wake up." She got no response on the first several attempts, but she kept trying. Waking up passed out drunks was, unfortunately, something she had ample experience in.

His head finally lifted up, his huge pupils and glassy eyes moving so slowly she'd have sooner thought him high than drunk. Eventually, he lifted his hand out of a puddle of spilled scotch, quite possibly intending to make contact with her. However, his perception was a bit skewed, and so, his hand dropped halfway between them. His eyebrows knitted together in a slowly dawning confusion.

"Liv?"

He tried again with his hand, spreading his fingers through the empty space between them like he thought she was some kind of apparition.

With her eyes wide, she looked at Chuck. "What the hell did he drink?"

He shook his head. "Don't look at me. He was high when he came in."

Olivia rolled her eyes, convinced someone must have spiked his drink. Elliot certainly wasn't popping ecstasy. Touching his outstretched hand lightly, she tried to get through to him. "Where's your wallet?"

Finally correcting for the distance, but not force, his hand slapped the side of her face, leaving a wet smear of alcohol on her shirt when his hand settled on her shoulder. "Olivia!"

"Oh, fuck, El, can you work with me here?"

He stared at her, his unfocused eyes unwavering.

She gave up on getting him to make sense. He recognized her. Which meant he trusted her. With Chuck's assistance, she got Elliot on his feet, much of his bulky weight leaning on her. Still, he seemed balanced enough against her for her to let go with one hand, feeling carefully for his wallet in his back pocket.

Unaware of much else, he definitely noticed when her hand found his ass. She was only trying to work his wallet free without landing him on the floor in the process, but apparently, his hormonal response wasn't at all affected by his inebriation. He couldn't even stand up on his own, but there was her suddenly lecherous partner, leering at something vaguely in the direction of her left shoulder.

Christ, the drunk son of a bitch thought she was coming onto him. She ignored him and pulled a credit card from his wallet. Judging by the grin on Chuck's face, she was fairly sure that Elliot had just paid for a substantially larger number of drinks than he'd actually ingested, but it was hardly her problem. She simply signed her name to the bill, more upset by Elliot's roaming hand than his finances.

With Chuck's interest in helping her gone, Olivia had quite a time of it dragging her touchy-feely partner to his car. She shivered in the cold as she leaned him up against the passenger's side, unhappily facing the prospect of looking for his keys. She glanced at him and saw his stupid getting-lucky smile still in place, but his eyes, at least, appeared a bit more with it.

"Where are your keys?"

He just kept staring at her, his eyes slowly dropping down to the v-neck of her shirt, seeming to suggest that perhaps his keys were hidden in her bra. Or at least, that he'd be happy to look for them there.

"Damn it, Elliot, what the fuck is with you? Kathy still pissed over Dickie?" She tried his jacket first, luckily finding his keys in the right hand pocket.

As she moved to open his door, he shifted over, blocking her path, his hands strangely coordinated as they found her waist. "Less not talk bout her," he slurred at her.

With a shriek, Olivia found herself yanked into his chest, her hands futilely pushing at his strong arms. "Elliot, what the fuck?"

His grin was completely out of place when he leaned forward, his mouth only catching the corner of hers as she turned away. "Zakly." Before she quite figured out what he was doing, his mouth was clamped against her neck, teeth biting down too hard, guaranteed to leave a mark on her skin.

"Stop!" She shoved at him, but her strength paled in comparison to his and she got nowhere. So she twisted instead, trying to pull her skin away from his teeth, causing herself more pain in the process. "Fuck, Elliot, that hurts!"

One of his hands moved down, cupping her ass, holding her against him. "You stard it."

She jerked her knee up quickly, refusing to give any consideration to the fact that she was choosing to cause a man she cared a lot about a significant amount of pain. But it wasn't like Mr. Octopus had given her any options. As she made contact with his groin, the hand that had been trying to reach up her shirt fell away.

"Ow! Fuck!" As he doubled over in pain, he moved far enough for her to pull open his door. "Wacha do that for?"

"Get the fuck in the car and be happy you're not permanently injured, dumbass."

A shove from her got him into the car. She didn't bother with a seat belt, figuring such an intimate distance would only land her in more trouble. She barely waited until he'd pulled his legs inside before she slammed the door. Once again grumbling to herself, she climbed behind the wheel and started the drive to his house.

Elliot was quiet for a couple blocks, until he looked at her and squinted. "What the fuck are you doing?"

She let out a sigh, promising herself that killing her partner was liable to only create more paperwork in the long run. "I'm taking your drunk ass home." She checked the traffic light, hoping it would turn green, and then glared at him. "And I might talk to Kathy to see if she's aware you're going out and getting so piss drunk at night that you don't know what the fuck you're doing."

His eyes narrowed, his drunk haze lifted instantly by anger. "You stay the fuck out of my personal life, ok?" His fist slammed into the dashboard, causing Olivia to jump.

She hadn't expected Elliot to get pissed off that fast, and certainly not at her. It left a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach regarding the whole mess with Dickie – because Elliot had been drinking, because he hadn't been able to explain to her anything about what had happened, because he hadn't wanted her to talk to Dickie, because his rage appeared so suddenly. She swallowed hard, trying to get the taste of bile out of her throat. "I'm taking you home. Just go back to sleep."

"The fuck you are!"

Without another word, Elliot jumped out of the car, tripping over himself as he tried to hail a cab. The car behind them blared its horn, but Olivia ignored it, standing up, shouting over the roof of the car.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Drunk and stumbling or not, he succeeded in hailing a cab. "Go fuck yourself, Olivia!" He climbed in without bothering to check if the cabbie was interested in going to Queens.

Dumbfounded, Olivia watched the cab disappear around the corner before she got back into his car. "Fuck!" She slammed her own hands into the wheel, upset over his behavior. She didn't want to be mad at him, not when it was so obvious he needed her help, but she couldn't help it.

With a sigh, she directed her attention back to driving, only noticing when she stopped at the next light that his wallet, the one she'd been afraid to put back in his pocket, was still lying on the seat next to her. For a moment she worried about him not having the money to pay for the cab. And then she shook her head at herself, decided he deserved getting yelled at by both the cabbie and Kathy when he had to make one wait while he woke the other. Out of frustration with herself and her partner, she hurled his wallet onto the floor and staunchly ignored it the rest of the way home.

But Olivia wasn't drunk, nor irresponsible, so she knew leaving a wallet in a car in New York City was a quick way to get both of them stolen. So after she found a spot near her apartment, she grabbed his wallet and carefully put his copy of the receipt she'd signed inside before she made her way into her apartment for whatever bit of sleep she could still find.


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: To my anonymous, illiterate friend (you know who you are): Here's hoping Santa brings you the dictionary you so desperately need so you don't have to embarrass yourself in public again!_

Part Three

The usual morning rush, always exacerbated by a day off, would have left Olivia a good fifteen minutes late. Cragen wasn't that big of a stickler for eight o'clock, not with the kind of hours the squad regularly kept, but Olivia figured it was for her own protection that she never did anything that he might remember the next time she fucked up bad and needed a favor. Luckily, as she paused in the kitchen, trying to determine if she had enough time for toast, her eyes fell on Elliot's wallet and keys. She'd forgotten she had use of a car. With a smile, she put some bread in to toast and poured herself a glass of orange juice.

On the other side of the spectrum, Elliot's morning hadn't gone nearly so smoothly. Olivia's good mood soured the moment she saw him. Though he'd managed to drag himself to work on time, his bloodshot eyes gave away how he felt. He was on the phone when she walked in, his folded arms serving both to mask the sloppy, wrinkled suit coat and prevent his body from slumping forward onto his desk. She felt a twinge of sympathy for him, knowing that his haggard appearance probably didn't do justice to the way he was suffering. But then her eyes fell on his hands, reminding her of where they'd been when she'd been trying to get him in the car.

The asshole had been trying to get in her pants.

The married asshole.

Angry all over again, she threw his keys down on his desk. He winced at the noise, looking up at her in confusion. Rather than the drunk bastard from the night before, it was her normal partner, somewhat worse for wear due to his hangover from hell. His eyes took forever to find the source of the sound, having just learned that moving too quickly would increase the pain.

"Never mind, I think I found it," he moaned into the phone before hanging it up. Eventually, his eyes found their way back to hers. "Please tell me know where my wallet is too."

She nodded, pulling it from her pocket and laying it on his desk. "The receipt from the bar is in there."

His eyes narrowed. "Bar?"

She nodded as she sat down at her desk, wondering how the hell Elliot was going to work when he couldn't sit up straight. "Yeah, I got a call from the bartender. He was a bit upset you passed out on his bar and all."

Elliot sighed, opening his wallet and reading the credit card slip in dismay. "Jesus, what the hell did you buy?"

"I didn't buy shit. I had to drag your drunk ass out of there and drive you home." She glowered at him, at the suggestion that she'd been responsible for the bill. "And believe me, I had other things to do." She hadn't, of course, but it still hadn't been convenient.

His eyes drifted down and Olivia thought he was about to fall back asleep, but then they suddenly turned dark and snapped back to hers. "Yeah, I'm sure Mr. Wonderful wasn't done with you yet." He shook the receipt at her. "It was only four, he probably thought dinner was worth a few more hours at least."

Her mouth fell open, words failing her. She didn't know what the fuck had merited his cruel words and she wanted to put him in his place. But then she noticed how his eyes had locked on her neck.

"You really should have tried covering that up. Really sends the wrong message in Special Victims, you know?" His red eyes seemed to light up with the fun of being mean to her.

And she wasn't about to take it. She leaned forward across her desk, wishing what she had to say could have been screamed if only to cause his head to pound. But yelling about how his fucking teeth had caused the bruised welt on the side of her throat was only going to start trouble.

"Not that my personal life is any of your business, asshole, but it just so happened that after you tied one on last night and dragged my ass out of bed to come get you, you decided you were getting lucky and turned into a fucking vampire." She was mildly amused that his eyes widened and his cheeks blushed red. "Next time, I promise my gun will be causing far more damage than my knee did. Keep your fucking hands to yourself."

Knowing her day was ruined and unhappily reminded of the possessive way her partner's hands had roamed all over her body, she stomped off to the roof to get some air. It was either that or throttle the man and, if she were being honest, she really didn't want to touch him.

Cleaning, usually slightly obsessive cleaning, was Olivia's typical fallback for when she was upset. There was something cathartic about scrubbing the tub on her hands and knees until she was sweating. Unfortunately, she'd already made her apartment ready for a Martha Stewart surprise inspection one day earlier. So her lingering issues with her partner – his new bent toward drinking himself stupid and the fight they'd had that morning – found another outlet. She started making lists.

She listed all the groceries she needed. She listed the various things around the apartment that needed fixing. She listed all the items of clothing she needed to replace. She was in the middle of listing a bunch of phone calls she'd been meaning to make when the phone rang.

She abandoned the notebook and pen and random lists on the coffee table, jogging into the kitchen to answer the phone. She grabbed it just before her answering machine would have spared her the trouble. "Yeah, hello?"

"Hey," Elliot's voice hesitantly offered. "Am I interrupting something?"

With a sigh, Olivia started putting away the dishes from the dishwasher, slamming them down nearly hard enough to break them. "Fuck you if you're calling me to start another fight." She didn't like the insinuation he was making about what she'd been doing and she knew it was true simply from the way he'd accused her of the same thing having left a mark on her neck that morning.

"Actually, I was calling to apologize."

"Oh, well, in that case, go right ahead."

And so he did, begging for forgiveness for having been a jerk that morning and the night before. He didn't know what had gotten into him, he claimed, in fact he couldn't even remember a damn thing about it. And after he promised that he'd try very hard not to deserve another knee in the balls, Olivia let him off the hook.

In a much better mood, Olivia headed out for a walk to clear her head. The city was a different place in the evening, a very different energy buzzing around in the dark than in the morning when people were rushing around for work. The cool air helped calm her down, pushing Elliot and his problems far from her mind. After about an hour, the cool air was starting to get to her, chilling her hands and nose.

She headed home, ready to crawl into bed for the night. Her shoes retook their usual position by the door, despite her cleaning fit. But she did pause long enough to gather the lists she made, throwing them in the trash, their purpose served. She set the notebook back in its usual place by the phone. Then she went to her bedroom, stretching the muscles in her neck as she went.

She stopped dead in the doorway, her eyes locked on the bed. Sitting there on her pillow was a blood red rose.

Her heart was pounding so loudly in her chest that she could barely hear as she turned and ran for the door. Someone had been in her apartment. Someone had been in her _bedroom_. She was shaking from something besides the cold when she got to the vestibule between the doors of her building. Her apartment wasn't safe, obviously, but neither was the outside.

Fumbling in her pocket, she found her phone and dialed the first person who came to mind.

He was there in twenty minutes, clearly having sped the entire way from his house. He saw her as he climbed the front stairs, his face drawn tight. "Liv!"

She looked up, jumping up from her spot on the floor to let him in, diving into his arms for a hug that she hadn't even expected to need. She was still shaking as she led him to her apartment. Although she'd been hysterically frightened when she called him, she must have conveyed the issue pretty clearly.

"Why don't you stay out here while I check inside to make sure he's gone?" Elliot had already pulled his gun, ready to shoot anyone who dared threaten his partner.

She wanted to nod and agree, but she couldn't just stand there and let her partner protect her. No matter how violated and scared she felt, she was a cop. "No, I'm coming with you." Her gun was with her, always was, and so she drew it, mirroring Elliot's stance as he pushed open her door.

They checked the apartment thoroughly. At her own insistence, Elliot waited in the hall, just over the threshold as she scoured her own bedroom closet to be sure the bastard wasn't just hiding out, waiting for her to be alone. She reached for the long-stemmed rose, nearly jumping out of her skin when Elliot spoke.

"Don't you want to leave that for crime scene?"

She shook her head. "No. I want it gone." Using two fingers, she lifted the damn thing and race walked to the trash. "I don't want to call them."

"Liv, you said you thought he'd been in here before. You need to call it in."

The last thing she wanted was a bunch of techs tearing apart her place, the very same one she'd spent twelve hours cleaning. She shook her head again. "No. I don't want more people in here poking around. My privacy's already been invaded enough for the night."

He wasn't satisfied and it showed on his face as he glared at her. "How the hell did he get in, did you figure that out yet?"

"No. I left the door unlocked the other night by accident. I went out for a walk after you called. I must have left it unlocked again." It didn't seem like something she would do, but she couldn't swear she'd locked it. She knew she hadn't taken time to turn the deadbolt, so she felt like she was partly responsible. She sat down on the couch, thinking she'd probably be sleeping there for the foreseeable future.

Elliot sat down beside her, drawing in a deep breath and giving Olivia a fair indication he was going to say something she didn't want to hear. "You're going to tell Cragen though, right?"

Cragen would be pissed as hell that she hadn't reported it. And she knew Elliot would rat her out in a heartbeat if it meant keeping her safe. So, rather than facing the idea of Cragen being pissed off for having to find out from Elliot, she nodded. "Fine. I'll tell him in the morning."

He stared at her, his eyes searching hers for a long time. "You know if you don't, I will."

She nodded. "I know. I'll tell him. I just want to go to sleep now." Exhaustion had set in, her long walk coupled with the waning adrenaline leaving her eyes already half closed. "I'll tell him in the morning."

"You want me to stay?"

The suggestion itself was innocent, one she might have expected under the circumstances. But there was something else, perhaps the memory of the previous night, that bothered her. Something about his eyes too, the way he was staring at her. The way he seemed like he really, really wanted to stay.

She shook her head, wanting desperately to be alone. "No, I'm ok. We checked this place out. It's empty. I'll lock the door as soon as you leave and I'll be fine." She smiled, trying to offer him a reassurance she didn't feel. "I'm never going to forget to lock my door again after this."

Nodding, he climbed to his feet. "I really think this is a bad idea, but I'm not going to waste my time arguing." He turned back to face her at the door, giving her a warm smile. "Give me a call if you change your mind. I won't get mad."

She smiled back, knowing he was hoping she'd change her mind right then. "Thanks, El."

His hand moved out, lightly cupping the back of her head, holding her in place as he leaned forward to press his lips against her forehead. "Night, Liv."

Before he pulled his hand away, he brushed his fingers across the bruise he'd left on her neck. He nodded toward it. "I really wish I remembered that." He winked at her just before he turned away.

It sent a cold shiver through her.


	4. Chapter 4

Part Four

Olivia got very little sleep. The couch wasn't very comfortable and her dreams were tortured. Most of the night she lay awake, staring at the ceiling, jumping out of her skin at every imagined noise. She was glad to see the morning. She locked her bathroom door while she showered, sticking her head out of the curtain every two seconds to make sure no one had snuck in. She was terrified as she opened the bathroom door, gun in hand, half expecting someone to be waiting for her.

She put on the morning news while she got dressed because she couldn't take the creepy silence anymore. So she listened with half an ear to the sing-song voice of the weather forecaster calling for snow in the afternoon and the dire warning of a possible impending storm coming in the next week. Uncomfortable and nervous, she sat on the edge of the couch until it was close enough to a reasonable time to leave for work.

Her skin crawled as she stepped onto the sidewalk. It felt like there were a million pairs of eyes watching her. Paranoia took hold of her, leading her to check over her shoulder continuously. She was sure she was being followed, convinced that every man on the street was a threat. About halfway between her place and the precinct, she noticed the sedan. It stayed with her through every turn, somehow managing to stay slightly behind her all the time. At first, she thought that Elliot must have gone ahead without her consent and put a detail on her. Except that a protective detail would have been two officers, and she could only see one body in the car. It was too far away to see much, not even to positively identify the make of car. But it was the same dark blue color as Elliot's car. And all she could see of the driver was a tall, thick frame, concealed behind a coat, hat, and scarf.

She felt a spark of anger in her belly, allowing her to not be afraid. He had offered to stay. But she'd refused and she thought it was reasonable to expect he would do as she asked. She also figured, had the bastard been determined to follow her, that he might have volunteered to drive her rather than forcing her to walk in the cold. She hurried the rest of the way, anger and irritation fueling her steps and squashing any concern whatsoever over the man who'd been in her apartment. At that moment, she was just as pissed at Elliot.

She was furious when she got to work. Just so she could beat Elliot to the punch, she knocked on the captain's door. By the time he was up to speed, Elliot was settled at his desk. Her mug was freshly filled with steaming coffee. Part of her wanted to throw it at him. Part of her was happy to see him looking like himself without any signs of a hangover.

He nodded at her as she sat down. "You told him?"

"I thought I told you to go home last night."

He sat back, narrowing his eyes. "I did."

"I saw you." She hadn't slept and some crazy man had been in her apartment more than once. She was not in the mood for bullshit from her partner.

"I went home, Liv. I didn't want to, but I did." He had the nerve to look angry. "You should have taken a better look, cause that's the guy stalking you."

"I saw you." Her repeated words had no effect on him. She grabbed the phone and lifted it to her ear. "How about I call Kathy and see if you were home last night?"

Elliot was on his feet in a flash, leaning across their desks and snatching the receiver from her. "Why don't you leave Kathy out of this?"

His outburst shook her, but she didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing it. Instead, she played it cool, smirking at him. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

She waited for him to admit it, to give that she'd won the point. But he didn't say a word. He kept looking at her, staring when he thought she wouldn't notice. Even while he was driving. Even while they were conducting interviews to follow up on cases. Just to take a break from being watched, at least so obviously, she headed into a convenience store to buy a bottle of water. She dragged her feet the whole way to buy herself more time.

When she returned to the car, he was on the phone, reading his credit card number to someone. Not that she really cared who he talked to or what he bought, but she didn't like how he suddenly hung up and stashed away the phone when she got in. She wasn't the prying sort, but she didn't like that he was suddenly so secretive.

"So, who was that?" The short trip outside left her hands painfully cold and she rubbed then together to warm them up.

"It's getting cold out there. They said it might snow tonight." Elliot wasn't exactly the master of subtlety on a regular day, but the change of subject was abrupt, even for him.

She fixed her stare on him, determined to know what he was hiding. "What's going on?"

Elliot shook his head, shoving his wallet into his pocket. "I heard there might be a blizzard next week."

"Damn it, Elliot! What the hell?" She already had enough trouble, what with some fucker playing games with her; she didn't need her partner to start even more bullshit. It wasn't like he didn't have enough shit going on himself.

He shrugged, seeming surprised at her insistence. "I forgot to pay the light bill. Jesus, what business is it of yours?" To prove his statement, he pulled the special pink-colored past due envelope out of his blazer.

Realizing his embarrassment, Olivia closed her eyes. He hadn't wanted to tell her because he wasn't proud of the fact that he could barely make ends meet. She felt bad for making him tell her. "I'm sorry, El. I just-"

He reached out, his hand closing over hers on the seat between them. "It's ok." His fingers rubbed across her skin, warming her immediately. "Did you get any sleep at all last night?"

For a moment, she let herself revel in the warmth of the contact. "Not really."

"Like I said last night, Liv, I can stay with you tonight if you want."

And suddenly, the way he'd been staring, even the way he'd followed her, didn't seem so awful anymore. She didn't like the dishonest way he'd tried to pretend it hadn't been him, but she understood the motive. He was worried about her. And he didn't want her to be scared. It wasn't so creepy as she'd thought the night before.

Still, she shook her head. "Nah, I'll be ok." Old habits were hard to break. "But I wouldn't say no to a ride home."

With a warm smile and a firm squeeze of her hand, he turned back to the road and pulled into traffic. "Good, because you weren't getting out of it anyway."

They were almost ready to leave for the night when the delivery showed up. A young, eager guy pushed sideways through the doors, nearly tripping several times as he tried to see around the large arrangement of roses.

"Excuse me," the man said, pausing by Elliot's desk and setting the vase down to check his list. "Is there a Detective Benson here?" He followed Elliot's gaze and smiled at Olivia. "These are for you, ma'am."

Elliot asked him to wait while Olivia checked the card. Her eyes stared at the words, her brain unable to comprehend what she was reading at first. Elliot could read her expression, sending Munch and Fin back to the florist to find out who'd ordered the flowers. Olivia heard the words, but she wasn't paying any attention. She didn't notice when Elliot walked around the desks to read over her shoulder. She only heard his sharp intake of breath when he read the words, shocked to realize someone was so close. She jumped, afraid of the contact of his hands on her shoulders, afraid of the threat written out on the card.

_I want to see you in your purple panties when I come to fuck you._

He must not have realized how upsetting his presence, his touch, was to her, she thought. She knew he was only trying to make her feel better, as with his suggestion of spending the night. He couldn't have known, she told herself, that his voice in her ear sent chills down her spine.

"We'll get him, Liv. He won't get a chance to touch you."

She nodded, stepping away from him and sitting down before her legs could give out. Cragen was on his way over to see what was going on. She wanted to ball up the card or shred it into a million pieces. It was too personal, too intimate, to share with her coworkers. She supposed that was part of the thrill for the prick, knowing that she really didn't want her partner and boss reading about the color of her underwear, knowing that he could make her when she had to reveal it. It was just another invasion, another violation, that she had to suffer.


	5. Chapter 5

Part Five

Somehow she suffered through the following two days. Cragen was over-involved in her day to day life, asking her where she was going and when she expected to be home, even having the nerve to call her in the evening to make sure she was home safe. Olivia nearly asked for a detail just so they could be responsible for giving Cragen all the information he wanted without her having to bother.

Elliot was another story altogether. For the first two days, the man about crawled up her ass. He drove her home, appeared outside her building in the morning, followed her wherever she went. He even had the balls to walk her to the bathroom. He insisted on taking her to the grocery store because he informed her that he didn't trust delivery guys.

She was sick to death of being hounded.

And then he stopped. Apparently he'd grown bored with her safety, albeit quicker than Olivia had anticipated he would. He went right back to his new behavior of showing up to work hungover and either not knowing or not telling what he'd done.

It was the third night after the flowers had come that she heard a knock on the door. She'd finally decided to return to her bedroom, simply because the couch was hideously uncomfortable, but hadn't been able to sleep anyway. Despite the freshly laundered sheets and blankets, which she'd policed in the laundry room, she felt like something filthy was touching her. Determined to sleep in her bed and not let the bastard win, she tried to ignore the feeling.

But the knocking had her sitting up in a panic.

Far too late for anyone sane, she knew it was either the son of a bitch that was stalking her or the son of a bitch that was her partner. She wasn't sure which one she wanted to deal with less. When she checked, she saw the familiar, if unwelcome, form of her partner waiting in the hallway.

Had it not been the middle of the night, she would have pretended she wasn't home. Because the slouched shoulders and red eyes gave away that the man was, per usual evenings of late, inebriated. She swallowed hard, wished she'd grabbed her robe to hide her revealing tank top, and opened the door part of the way.

"What do you want?"

He pushed at the door, not expecting that her foot was planted behind it to keep him from getting it open. "It's just me."

"I know who you are." She tried not to recognize the hurt look in his eyes. He might look like her partner, but she'd dealt with him drunk once already that week and she didn't want anything to do with the asshole he morphed into with alcohol.

He leaned on the door, although she couldn't tell if it was because he was trying to force his way in or simply because standing was requiring too much concentration. "Let me in, Liv."

"You're drunk."

He laughed, finding amusement that she didn't intend. "Damn, you're sharp. You should be a detective."

She rolled her eyes. "Go home, Elliot." She tried to push the door closed, but she saw his fingers wrap around the edge of the wood. Irked as she was, she couldn't slam his fingers in the door. With a heavy sigh of surrender, she moved her foot.

The door swung open fast under his weight and her rather uncoordinated partner tumbled straight to the floor. Luckily, the asshole was too drunk to realize she'd had any part in the catastrophe and glared at the door as though it was solely to blame.

While he grumpily climbed to his unsteady feet, Olivia wondered for the millionth time why he'd taken to drinking so heavily. "What do you want, El?"

He stared at her, and then turned to look around, his eyes confused when he looked back, as though he wasn't quite sure where he was. "Would you believe I don't remember?"

"Surprisingly, I would." She folded her arms across her chest. "So since you don't know why you're here, how about you leave?"

His gaze fell from hers, perhaps because he knew he didn't stand a chance of winning an argument with her drunk, perhaps because the way she was standing offered him an unobstructed view down her shirt.

Realizing where he was looking, she immediately dropped her arms. "Go home, Elliot. Right now." She wasn't in the mood to play. She already had one creepy, perverted guy fantasizing about her. She didn't need to add her partner to the list. Grabbing his arm, she stepped past him, trying to physically shove him out.

Drunk and clumsy as he was, he wasn't quite as out of it as she'd thought. He moved with her, but managed to turn at the last second, pressing her into the wall next to the door, rather than stepping through it himself. With a smile, his eyes moved to her lips. "I'm not going to hurt you, you know."

His breath, so unexpectedly close to her face, reeked of scotch. She turned her face away, trying to find a breath of air that didn't smell like a bar. But her lack of verbal response led Elliot to believe she was doing something other than trying to get fresh air. He responded eagerly, his mouth hot as his lips grazed her neck.

She was angry. Downright furious. Not only was the man drunk out of his head, but his timing was indisputably ridiculous. Some psycho was threatening her, sneaking around her apartment, stealing her damn underwear, talking about fucking her, and, after more than a decade of just being friends, her son of a bitch partner chose that week to decide he wanted to pursue a relationship with her.

She wondered what his wife would think of that.

She wanted to shove him away, to clobber him for having the balls to try it again with her, to ask him just what the hell made him think she had any interest in being the other woman.

But the truth was far less complicated than she wanted it to be. She wanted him. Apparently as much as he wanted her. Regardless of her higher brain function pointing out so many reasons why it was a bad idea, her body responded to the ministrations of his mouth on her throat.

His tongue tasted her, smoothing over the skin he'd nearly torn the first time he'd gone for her. His lips pressed light kisses all along her skin, up the column of her neck, over her jawbone, finally, firmly onto her mouth. She couldn't help responding to the way he traced her bottom lip, allowing her mouth to fall open, inviting his tongue inside. His arms were locked around her, holding her to him, as if knowing that a little space might let her get away.

She wasn't exactly trying. Her arms snuck up under his, her hands wrapping around his shoulders from behind, pulling his chest closer to hers. She felt electricity shooting through her, allowing her body to come alive in a way she wasn't sure it ever had. His knee was moving against her thighs, trying to work between them. Just as with her mouth, she let him have his way, parting her legs so he could slip one of his between them.

His body responded hard and fast, thrusting into her, shoving her harder into the wall. She moaned in response, not wanting to take her mouth away from his long enough to answer. But she curled her leg around his, encouraging him as best she could. His arms relaxed for a moment, repositioning around her until he could lift her up slightly, allowing her to straddle both of his legs.

She was ready to fuck him right there. She wanted to. And she probably would have.

Except, during a pause for breathing, the moron opened his mouth and said something that sent ice water surging through her overheated body.

"Next time I'll just use my key."

She pushed him away and practically ran across the room. "What?"

He hadn't been expecting her mood change. He hadn't been expecting her to move either, and stumbled right into the wall as he tried to find his balance after her sudden departure. Finally, with one hand propped against the wall, he turned to look at her. "What the fuck was that?"

Her mouth was wet and swollen, the same as his, and she wiped at it self-consciously. "What did you say to me?" Her voice was shaking and she prayed that he was too drunk to notice.

"I said I'd use my key." He seemed to search his memory, as well as her floor, for information as to what had happened. When he found nothing, he started, a bit tipsily, making his way toward her.

She took a step back for every one he took forward. "Why would you say that?" It had never bothered her that he had a key. In fact, half the time, she was sure he forgot he had one, since he never used it, not even when she refused to answer the door. But it felt like an odd thing for him to mention, especially in light of the fact that someone had been in and out of her apartment at will so recently.

He looked baffled as he continued toward her. "You were grumpy when you answered the door." He smiled as his eyes raked up her body slowly. "But you got over it quick enough. So I figured next time I shouldn't wake you up."

Taking refuge behind her arm chair, she nodded toward the door. "Get out."

Finally, he stopped walking. "Liv?"

She was shaking, cold, feeling exposed and violated too. "You heard me." She didn't know why she felt so weird, so discomforted, in his presence, certainly not when she'd been so thoroughly comfortable touching him a few moments earlier. "Get out."

He stared at her, noticing her defensive position, her angry voice, her unfailing glare. "Liv-"

"Out!" She raised her voice, refusing to consider what she might do if he didn't obey.

"Fine!" His voice was equally loud, laced with far more anger. His eyes were dark and filled with hostility when he walked to the door. "Have it your way, Olivia." He slammed the door behind him.

Shivering, she sat on the couch with the phone book in her lap, looking for a locksmith with twenty-four hour service. Elliot was a very different man when he was drinking. A very forgetful, inattentive man who passed out in bars and had blackouts. He wouldn't know if anyone had made use of his keys. He wouldn't have cared either, not when he was in one of his drunken stupors. She couldn't imagine who would know her well enough to know that Elliot had a key, but she didn't feel like taking any more chances. New locks and a new key were the only way for her to be sure no one had access to her apartment.

Not even Elliot.

Especially not Elliot.


	6. Chapter 6

Part Six

In keeping with his pattern, Elliot had no recollection of being at her apartment. She'd avoided mentioning it for as long as possible, not particularly wanting to face her own reaction any more than she wanted to talk about his. But he'd returned to his over-protective, over-bearing ways and after a few days of being smothered, she couldn't take it. He'd stepped up too close behind her one too many times. And when he'd asked what the problem was, she'd reminded him that she'd had to throw him out of her apartment. He'd been so alarmed at the prospect that she nearly believed him when he swore whole-heartedly that he hadn't been anywhere near her apartment since the night she'd found the rose.

Except she knew it wasn't true. She'd brought up the way he'd sworn he hadn't followed her the next morning, reminded him of how quickly he'd changed his mind about that. He'd tried to argue that point all over again as well, swearing he'd never admitted to following her because he had done no such thing. It only took yet another threat of discussing the issue with Kathy for Elliot to change his mind back and declare that Olivia was right about everything.

Winning hadn't felt like much of a victory, not when he made it clear that he was only conceding because he didn't want to argue anymore. She didn't want to argue either, but she'd have preferred to hear him admit that he was lying. Instead, the conversation ended with Elliot's smiling assurance that one of them was completely fucking nuts.

Not at all comforted, she snuck out to head home, trying to avoid having to deal with Elliot babysitting her all the way. But when she reached her door, she couldn't find her keys. She searched her pockets, her bag, then both again. She always left her keys in her bag in her locker. The only possibility was that they'd fallen out, hopefully while the bag was still in her locker. She sighed, not looking forward to the effort of dodging Elliot again, but she had no choice. She couldn't get in her apartment until she found her keys.

About a block from the precinct, she heard, and ignored, a car horn. But a moment later, a familiar voice called out.

"Liv!"

Expecting a lecture about not waiting for him, Olivia reluctantly turned back to face her partner. "Yeah, what?"

His hand lifted, accompanied by a jingle. "Forget something?"

She closed the distance, grabbing her keys from his hand. "How the hell did you get them? They were in my locker."

He shook his head. "No, they were sitting on your desk."

"No, they weren't." She folded her arms across her chest, convinced that she wasn't the crazy one. "I didn't look for them until I got home or I wouldn't have gone all the way home without them."

He shrugged. "If they weren't on your desk, I wouldn't have come looking for you." He smiled at her, annoyance obvious in his handsome features. "Of course, I would have come looking for you sooner, but you didn't mention you were leaving."

She rolled her eyes. "I wasn't aware that I reported to you."

He looked hurt. "Next time, I won't bother bringing you your keys then."

The guilt welled up immediately. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired." She smiled, knowing he had taken the time to come find her when he'd had work to do. "Thank you."

He nodded toward the passenger seat. "I know you were trying to lose me, but since I'm here, you want a ride home?"

She didn't mind walking, not usually, but the extra trip had left her tired. "I'm not trying to lose you."

Elliot didn't reply, only cocked an eyebrow at her to convey his disbelief. It was a rare occasion that she didn't say goodnight to him.

She shrugged. "I just want things to be normal again." She got into the car, buckling her seatbelt and laying her head back to relax for the ride. "Shit is complicated enough, you know?"

His hand reached out for hers, calming her frazzled nerves with the chaste touch. "Yeah, Liv, I know."

Besides goodnight, they didn't say anything else.

The following morning was relatively quiet. Cragen was keeping Olivia on a short leash, claiming he was only looking out for her safety. Olivia suspected, however, that the man was simply afraid of Elliot's reaction should she be put in a dangerous situation, since Elliot had already nearly gone through the roof when Cragen hadn't insisted on a protective detail. So she was fuming silently, waiting for something to give, barely noticing when Munch's phone rang.

It was impossible to miss when he hung up though. "Woohoo! We have a winner!" All the eyes in the bullpen turned to him as he'd intended. "It seems the elusive Miss Rosa has returned."

Cragen, who'd been pouring a cup of coffee, piped up. "As in the MIA florist?"

Munch smiled. "None other." When Fin and Munch had gone back with the delivery guy, the owner, and the one who'd personally handled the rose order, was out and no one was sure when she was coming back.

"Shit, man! That's the second time this week." Fin pulled a bill of some sort out of his pocket and handed it to his partner. "I was sure there was no fucking Miss Rosa." Everyone in the department, in fact, had pretty much assumed that Miss Rosa had been a figment of the imagination of whoever had pocketed the money for the order without writing it down.

Munch made quite a production out of smoothing out the cash before putting it in his wallet. "Indeed, I was right. As always. Miss Rosa is real."

Cragen interrupted by clearing his throat. "You know, I really don't care who's right about what. Just tell me Rosa has something useful for us."

Munch's dramatic pauses were nothing new, but they were about on Olivia's last nerve. Rather than complain, which she knew would only serve to slow him down, she waited for anything he could tell her.

"It seems Miss Rosa remembers the order well. Apparently few men order flowers in person and fewer still pay cash." Munch paused again, holding up his notepad to be sure everyone knew he was reading from it. "Olivia's roses were purchased by a nice-looking man going by the name of Elliot."

Olivia's eyes turned accusingly toward her partner, seeing how his face paled several shades.

Munch continued, his words ominous and painful. "Elliot, she says, has striking blue eyes." Munch's gaze turned expectantly to the pair of detectives across the aisle, waiting for fireworks.

Fin chimed in immediately, choking back a laugh. "Damn, are you hitting on Stabler? You're making me sick."

Munch picked up the first thing he found and launched it at Fin, pages from his notepad flying all over the place. "Miss Rosa's words, not mine."

Cragen, Elliot, and Olivia barely noticed the relaxed joking between their coworkers. Cragen was staring at Olivia and Elliot, who, in turn, were staring at one another. While Elliot's face revealed surprise and distress, Olivia's only registered pain.

Elliot's expression turned to anger as he took in Olivia's stare, as well as the growing number of anxious faces around them. "You can't seriously think it was me, Liv." He waited, giving her ample opportunity to dispute his conclusion. "Fuck, Olivia! I'm broke. I can't pay my bills. I couldn't buy you a fucking hot dog, let alone two dozen roses!"

But his words, like so many others he'd offered her in recent days, didn't seem to ring true.

"Both of you, in my office, now." Cragen's harsh voice broke through the fog in Olivia's head, but she still could only stare.

It didn't compute. None of it. It didn't make any sense. And that was what Elliot was harping about when she finally realized she'd been issued a command by her boss.

"Why the fuck would I stalk her? I fucking see her all damn day." He turned to look at her as she closed the door behind her. "You think I've got nothing better to do than follow you around? I don't see enough of you during the day?"

His outrage over the idea bothered her as much as the idea itself. Because he hadn't been so bored with her that he hadn't tried things. Because he certainly hadn't minded putting his hands all over her. Because he had taken to following her around, even if he claimed he didn't remember it.

She glared at him, anger beating out the crushing disillusionment she felt threatening. "You do follow me around, dumbass! You follow me around all the time! You got drunk and tried to tear off a piece of my neck the other night and then you came in and swore you didn't remember it. You were reporting your car stolen, remember that?"

His face flushed red, though she couldn't swear if it was due to fury or embarrassment. The indecision resolved itself as soon as he met her eyes, the rage evident there enough to make her step back. "I'm not running around, sneaking into your place, stealing your damn underwear and then sending you flowers. I have better things to do!"

"Yeah, like drinking yourself into a fucking fugue state every night and beating your son!" She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, but she couldn't stop herself. She hated the way he made it sound like she was ridiculous and pathetic and unattractive and so desperate for his attention that she was making the whole thing up. And he hadn't given any indication that he thought she was unattractive when he was trying to screw her. Either time.

Elliot's eyes narrowed and she could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. "You miserable bitch! I didn't hit my son!"

"All right, both of you, shut the hell up!" Cragen stepped between them, leaning out of his door. "Munch, Fin, get Rosa down here right now." He turned back to the partners with a sigh. "That should settle that. Either Elliot bought the flowers or he didn't."

Elliot flopped down in one of the chairs, fixing his boss with a cold stare. "And when she comes in here and assures both of you that I didn't, are you going to think I bribed her?"

Cragen watched Olivia, his eyes not wavering until she settled down in the chair beside her partner. Finally, he looked at Elliot again. "Hopefully, Rosa will settle any fears Olivia may have." He turned back to Olivia, his face softening when he saw the discomfort there. "I think the real problem here is that someone obviously wants us to believe that Elliot is coming after you."

It took her a minute to think about it, to realize what was going on, to fully comprehend that she'd just been standing there, in front of her boss, accusing her partner of stalking her. Her partner. Her closest friend. Her real family. She shook her head, trying to hold back the tears that were trying to break through.

"It's ridiculous. Elliot would never hurt me." Maybe he'd been drinking and maybe he'd come on to her a few times when he was so intoxicated that he didn't even remember it, but he hadn't hurt her. He wouldn't hurt her. She felt like shit for alienating the one person in the world she knew she could count on.

"Well, I'm glad we have that settled." Cragen paused to look between them, at Olivia who was staring at her hands and at Elliot who remained pissed beyond words. "So, I'd like you both to start reviewing cases you worked together, since this prick seems to have it in for both of you."

Quietly, both detectives rose to their feet and moved toward the door without looking at one another.

"And if you can't work together, I can reassign you, you know."

The threat that Cragen could easily make sure they never worked together again usually was frightening enough to scare sense into both of them. But Elliot was harboring too much resentment over Olivia's words and Olivia was growing more and more afraid of whoever it was stalking her. Discrediting Elliot might hurt his career, but losing her relationship with her partner would be a devastating blow to Olivia, it would kill her. It scared the hell out of her that someone knew it.

In less than an hour, Rosa had been there and gone, taking one look at Elliot and shaking her head, assuring everyone that he was positively not the man who'd bought roses from her. Elliot glared at Olivia, too angry to respond to her quiet apology. He spent the rest of the day ignoring her, slamming things around on his desk in case she ever started to think maybe he wasn't mad anymore.

A little before four, Olivia decided she'd had it. Elliot wasn't speaking to her and someone was out to get her and she felt like an ass for falling for it. She let Cragen know she was ducking out early, nodding in acceptance of his request for her to be safe and get some rest. Elliot, who'd sulked off somewhere an hour earlier, hadn't come back.

She found him in the crib, laying on one of the beds, staring at the ceiling. "I just wanted to tell you I was leaving."

"Fuck you."

"I said I was sorry." She knew it wasn't enough. She knew how much her initial response had hurt him. She knew what it would have done to her had their positions been reversed.

"Fuck off."

She sat down on the bunk across from his, searching for something she could say to make things better. "El, I was scared. I don't know why I flipped out, but I knew it was wrong and I apologized."

"You apologized when someone came in here and told you it wasn't me." He hadn't looked at her, his furious glare melting the ceiling tiles.

"I knew it wasn't you before that and I said so." She wasn't used to Elliot holding a grudge. Sure, they fought and picked back and forth, but that was just how they were. The barbs didn't mean anything.

"I didn't hit my son." As soon as he spoke, she realized why he was so upset. She wasn't sure he'd ever forgive her for throwing that in his face.

"I know that." She felt like shit. A few words from her partner would go a long way toward lessening her guilt.

But he seemed to know that and was determined not to give it to her. "When did you stop trusting me?"

"Never. I'll never stop trusting you. I got mad and I said something I shouldn't have, but I said I was sorry and I meant it. You know I trust you." She stood up, her hands on her hips. "Now will you just drop it? Please?"

He stood up too, staring at her with an expressionless face. Stepping forward, he leaned down, leaving mere inches between them. "Go fuck yourself, Olivia." He stormed through the door, leaving her teary and stupefied in his wake.

Her hands were shaking as she let herself into her apartment. The knowledge that someone was watching her, following her, aiming to hurt her, stayed with her and forced her to double check the locks were fastened. But the moment that was done, the enormity of the day's events caught up with her. Not even just the day's events, really, more like the previous couple of weeks.

She sat down heavily on the couch and dropped her face into her hands. Elliot was good and pissed and he was likely to stay that way for a long time. And she couldn't say she didn't deserve it. She'd hurt him terribly, she knew that. Normally, although she normally would never have been so cruel to him, she would have begged for mercy, gone out of her way to make it up to him, sat outside his house and bugged him until he forgave her.

But she was too fucking tired for any of that shit. Living was just fucking exhausting her. She felt like her apartment was dirty, filthy from the presence of someone who truly wanted to hurt her. She wasn't sleeping well because of the memory that the creep had been in there himself, touching her bed, taking her panties. The one person who she always counted on to be strong when she felt like she was about to break hadn't been acting like himself and even if he had been, he wasn't about to comfort her.

Her living room was dismal, even with all the lights on. She refused to open any of the curtains because she didn't want anyone peeking in. It had been a wonderful few days since her obsessive friend had shown himself last, but it was hardly a relief. Until she was able to catch him, identify him, she'd have to live in the darkness. Finally, an hour after she'd sat down, she realized she was never going to relax just by letting her thoughts run free.

She made her way to the kitchen for a bottle of wine, drinking most of it before she stopped shaking. After she polished it off, she slowly picked her way to the bathroom, filling the tub with hot water and an excessive amount of bubbles. She needed some sleep and she knew that a nice, long bath, coupled with the wine, would send her happily off to dreamland. Thinking that with a little rest she might be able to come up with a way to convince Elliot to forgive her, she stripped and climbed into the delicious smelling water.

When she was almost asleep, she got up and toweled off quickly. She didn't want to lose the sleepy, calm feeling she had. It wasn't even six in the evening when she curled up beneath her covers, content to sleep through the night for the first time in a long time. She let out a happy sigh, shifted her pillow until it was just right, and shut off the light. Sleep came so fast she didn't even have time to think about Elliot.


	7. Chapter 7a

AN: VIOLENCE WARNING If that offends/frightens you, skip this part and go to the next. You'll be able to follow the story.

Part Seven

At first, she thought it was a dream.

A nightmare.

But there was something too real, too horrifying, too hideous for even Olivia's damaged psyche to provide.

The weight on top of her was very real and very heavy. Between it and the shock, she couldn't breathe for a moment. Instead of a scream, she could only force out a tiny, hoarse yelp. And all it did was serve to get his attention.

She'd thought waking up to the crushing weight of a man atop her was terrifying. But that was before he looked at her. The room was dark, leaving most of his figure in shadow, but the small bit of light that shone around the edges of the shades allowed her to see the blackness that made up his face. There were two large, pale rimmed eyes and then nothingness. She almost thought it really was a dream when she tried to understand the faceless monster above her. Until she realized it was a ski mask, hiding every identifiable feature on him, except for his wide, icy blue eyes.

His weight shifted and she realized he'd already peeled back her covers. She could feel his body, hard and muscled, moving against her in a grotesque caricature of sex. His erection was pressing against her belly as he tried to maneuver his hands under her clothes.

She was already at a terrible disadvantage, having left her gun in the living room for the first time in years. She was still fuzzy from the wine. But she recognized that she had precious little time before it was too late. He was concentrating on her clothes, tearing her cotton shirt apart, probably thinking she was too scared to scream.

She was too scared to do anything else. She opened her mouth and let out a blood-curling scream, that she hoped to god woke every last one of her neighbors. Her best chance of escape was to get someone else's attention. As soon as her breath ran out, she took another, ready to scream again.

But he hadn't liked that. He reached out into the darkness, swinging with all his might, delivering a blow that surely would have knocked her off her feet. Her cheek was on fire and the hand he'd clamped over her mouth did nothing to alleviate the pain. His hand was there, right below her nose, filling her nostrils with a strong, undeniably male scent. A scent that seemed so familiar she didn't even notice it in her panic.

With her option for screaming gone, she tried moving instead. She knew how the story went for rape victims, she knew how they usually stopped fighting to save their own lives. But she couldn't stop struggling, not even if he killed her. He'd have to, she decided, he'd have to fucking kill her before she let him rape her. So she fought, kicking and pushing, fighting the immense weight of him, shoving at his strength. Every time he shifted, she felt his arousal, heard his groan of appreciation, and it only made her fight harder.

She dug at him with her nails, bucked and fought, and while he was still trying to hold her mouth closed, he lost his balance on top of her. She knew she had an incredible chance that wasn't likely to be repeated as he shifted to the side, knocking against her bedside table and sending stuff flying onto the floor. So she found strength she didn't know she had, pulling herself away from him and running for the hall.

As soon as his hands were off her, she screamed again, out of breath from the struggle and physically uncoordinated from sleep, she just kept screaming. Her sheet had tangled around one of her legs and it tripped her, stealing a second she didn't have to lose as she righted herself in the hallway. She could hear him lumbering behind her, eerily silent except for his panting, chasing her. Scream after scream came from her mouth.

She knew, as soon as she reached the living room, that she wouldn't make it to the door. He was too close, too tall, his long limbs making up more room than she could stand to lose, smashing through an end table and lamp in his way. She could only hope that her neighbors were awake by then, registering her terror, calling for help. She could only hope that she'd still be alive by the time help got there.

He grabbed her hair first, a huge fist closing around her head, yanking so sharply that her scream cut off abruptly. She swung to fight him, but he was ready for her, shoving aside her arm like her muscles were nothing at all. His hands shoved at her shoulders while his foot twisted behind her ankles, sending her falling to the floor. She hit so hard it knocked the wind right out of her, but he apparently wasn't satisfied that she wouldn't scream again.

He hit her again, his fist somehow striking against the same spot on her cheek, causing stars to explode behind her eyes. His other hand moved, clutching at her throat, squeezing until she had to stop doing anything except fighting for consciousness. She could feel herself losing it. Although she was spread eagle on the floor, she felt weightless, like she was floating.

She knew she wasn't going to be awake for the rape and she wanted to be thankful.

But she was pissed off that she'd wake up from it. She'd rather be dead.

And so, with the last bit of strength she had, she lifted her arm, grabbing at the top of his mask, pulling at it the same as he was pulling at her pajama pants.

He pushed at her hand, trying to break her grip on the fabric, but she'd sooner die than not be able to identify the man who was trying to destroy her.

And somehow, that idea got through his crazed attack. He clutched at the bottom of the mask, keeping it down against his throat as she pulled. A punch landed against her stomach, causing her to loosen her hold as she shrieked in pain. But rather than claiming his prize for having overpowered her, the bastard ran.


	8. Chapter 7b

Shaking, she clambered to her knees, pushing herself towards the coffee table. She could see her gun sitting there, useless when she'd needed it, yet still promising her safety if she could only get it in her hand. She wanted to believe that she was safe, but the fucker might have only run off to get something to bind her with. She needed to be ready in case he came back for her, for what she'd denied him.

Once her gun was there in her hand, she thought about something else. Help. The help she'd expected her neighbors would provide. She didn't hear sirens. And if the bastard came back, she'd prefer someone else was there with her. So she picked up her phone with her left hand, calling the first number that came to mind.

His voice sounded comforting to her, even though he'd been so angry when they'd spoken last. But she didn't care; she figured what she'd just endured would outweigh an argument.

She sounded scared, even to herself, as she forced out something. "El?"

She heard the squeal of his brakes as he slammed them on. "Liv, what's wrong?"

She was shaking so hard that she dropped the phone and it took her a minute of searching in the dark to find it. He was screaming her name when she brought it back to her ear. "El? I need you."

He promised her that he'd be right there.

Her eyes locked on her phone, on the illuminated display that told her it was 8:18 in the evening. She wondered where Elliot was, how long it would take to get to her.

At 8:19, the light on the display went out. Petrified of the darkness, she opened it so the light would come back. She thought about the wine she'd drunk, fearing that she could have avoided the whole thing if she'd only stayed up until normal people went to sleep instead of getting drunk and going to bed early.

At 8:20, she started hearing things. Creepy, threatening things that made her whimper. She couldn't stop shaking. She couldn't stop crying. She knew she wouldn't stand a chance of fighting him off if he came back.

At 8:21, she heard heavy footfalls in the hallway. She wanted to scream, but when she opened her mouth, no sound came out. The door creaked as he pushed it open and she honestly thought she would die from fear. She closed her eyes and hoped he wouldn't find her, even though she was sitting right there in the middle of her floor. She heard him flip the light switch and knew she didn't stand a chance of being hidden.

He took two steps toward the hall. "Liv?"

She was so surprised to hear his voice that she couldn't find enough air to respond.

"Olivia?" He was calling down the hall, slowly making his way toward the bedroom. "Where are you?"

He was too far away. She tried to speak, to get his attention, but all she could manage was a sob. It was enough.

"Olivia! Oh my god!" He was at her side in a flash, dropping to the floor to sit beside her, his hand shaking as he reached out to touch her.

She jerked away, scared momentarily of any hands reaching for her. She wanted to explain herself, to say why she'd called, to be in enough control to loosen the grip she had on her gun.

But he did that for her, reaching for her slowly, telling her that he was just going to take her gun, promising that he wasn't going to touch her.

Her hand fell away easily, too weak to put up a fight.

"It's ok, Liv. You're ok now." He was sitting beside her, his voice aching with the need to touch her, yet obeying her direction to stay out of contact.

With a sob, she realized he was too far away and she leaned over, reaching for him. He gathered her into his arms, holding her close, rocking her gently, telling her that he'd protect her.

He stayed with her all night. He was there, holding her when the uniforms finally arrived to answer her neighbors' calls. He was there, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders while she described the assault to Cragen. He was there, holding her hand while she put up being examined and x-rayed at the emergency room.

She was barely aware of it most of the time. In her head, she kept reliving those horrible moments, when he was on top of her, when he was hitting her, when he was chasing her. She'd start to shake and cry and Elliot would gently hold her close, talking her back to the present.

The night went on forever, right into the following morning. She'd spent most of it at the precinct, making her complaint official, going over the details time and again. She felt naked, exposed, vulnerable. Instead of her usual work attire, she was wearing her pajama pants. Because her shirt had been torn, Elliot had given her his sweatshirt to go to the hospital. She wanted to get to her locker and change her clothes. She wanted to go home and forget about what had happened.

They hadn't found any forced entry, and although Olivia was sure she'd locked her door, the memory of arriving home and doing so had been erased by the wine she'd consumed. Most of her neighbors were at work by the time they'd started canvassing, but Cragen assured her that her case was taking priority.

And then he asked her to start from the top, again, to go over everything that happened, again, to make sure she hadn't missed anything, again. She sighed out of frustration. And Elliot, who was acting as her friend and not as a cop, stepped in.

"Damn it, Don, she's been over this a hundred times. She told you everything." His voice was hard, but his arm stayed wrapped around her shoulders.

Cragen's eyes darted to Elliot's, but only for a moment. "I know you're aware of this, but I'm going to say it anyway. Sometimes things get missed. Sometimes memories get confused. I want to make sure we get all the information we can. It's better to talk about it now while the memory is still fresh."

She wanted to speak up, to dispute the idea that the memory would ever go away, but she'd long since run out of steam. The only reason she was still sitting up was because she was leaning against her partner's solid form. And he knew it.

"She's told you everything. It's not going to change."

"Elliot, if you're going to interfere, I'll have to ask you to leave."

"The fuck you will." With his words, Olivia could feel his muscles contracting, ready to respond to the threat. The last thing she needed was for Elliot to get suspended because he'd hauled off and hit the captain.

Mustering all of her energy, she lifted her head and fixed Cragen with a tired stare. "There's nothing else to tell you. I doubt anything else is going to come to me, but if it does, I promise I'll call right away." She took a breath to yawn, her weight sagging back against Elliot's side. "Can I please go home now?"

Cragen raised his hands in surrender and left the interview room, telling them that he was going to check on what information had turned up. Elliot's arm tightened around her and for a moment, she thought she might just fall asleep sitting there.

"Do you want to change here or do you want me to take you home first?"

"I just want to go home." She didn't know how she was ever going to feel safe there again, not when the son of a bitch had somehow gotten inside, but she knew she wouldn't feel safe anywhere else either. There were too many people in and out of the crib. A hotel was out of the question. She had nowhere else to go.

"Ok, home it is." He stood, offering his hands to help her to her feet beside him.

They emerged into the bullpen, the sudden noise and activity level making her feel even more out of place in her half-dressed state. She wanted to disappear, thinking that might make the eyes she felt staring at her go away.

But there was one pair of eyes in particular that wasn't going anywhere. Whitman. She heard Elliot curse under his breath as the IAB investigator approached them.

"Detective Stabler, I'm so glad I caught you before you left. Captain Cragen just told me you were about to leave." Whitman's eyes seemed to twinkle and Olivia wanted to strangle him, if for no other reason than because he was going to prevent her from going home.

"I don't have time for this shit right now. You'll have to torture me some other time." He tried to step around Whitman, but Cragen appeared in the doorway to his office and shook his head.

Olivia took a deep breath and accepted that she was going to have to get herself home. "It's ok, El. I'll be all right."

Whitman smiled at her words. "See, now you don't have any excuses."

She'd taken two steps when Elliot called her back. "Wait, Liv. Here." He fished in his pocket and held out his keys. "I don't want you walking home. Take my car. I'll come by later to get it."

She was too tired to argue, even when she heard Cragen tell her that he was sending a protective detail to watch her. She just nodded and kept walking, thankful that Elliot's offer would keep her from falling asleep halfway home. By the time she'd gotten to the car, having ignored several million strange looks from fellow cops, she was pissed off. She always got pissed off when she was tired and she felt she had plenty of things about which she was perfectly within her rights to be pissed.

The ribs on her left side hurt like a bitch. The doctor had assured her that they weren't broken, but it didn't help the fact that they felt like they were. Her cheek wasn't broken either, but she couldn't talk without the bruised and swollen skin telling her not to. She was angry that Whitman had to choose right then to pop in to bug Elliot.

She was angry at the idea that her partner didn't think she could take care of herself. She was angry at the idea that some fucker had gotten into her apartment in the first place. She was angry that the fucker had climbed into her bed and touched her. And she took the anger out on the gas pedal, interchangeably of course, with taking the anger out on the brake pedal. She'd never felt so helpless and pathetic and weak in her life. And rather than feel the pain of that, she kept funneling it all into sheer anger.

Her phone rang three blocks away from the precinct. Without looking, she knew it was Elliot, calling to make sure she had the ability to get to his car and not be attacked in the process. She silenced the call without an answer, hurling the phone onto the seat beside her. She didn't want to feel the vibration when he continued to call. But she heard it anyway, the "silent" mode of her phone leaving something, namely silence, to the imagination.

Still, she was determined not to care what noises her phone was making, not even when it rolled off the seat the next time she slammed on the brakes. Not even when it rolled under the seat with her next sudden acceleration.

It was only after she reached her apartment that she fished under the seat to find where the damn phone had wound up. Her hand closed around it and she pulled, finding that something soft had attached itself to her watch during the search.

The hazy yellow sun shining through the dirty windshield was playing tricks on her, she was sure.

So with a pounding heart and a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she rubbed her eyes and tried again.

There in her hand was her missing thong.

Fabric hardened in one area with a crusty stain that absolutely had not come from her body.

Shaking, she threw it on the seat next to her. It couldn't be hers, she told herself over and over. He had a wife. He had daughters. It could have belonged to them.

But as the easily recognizable smell of her own detergent washed over her, she knew exactly why she'd smelled his cologne in her bedroom the night it had disappeared. And why those icy blue eyes had scared her so badly when he'd been on top of her.

Wiping at the tears that had spilled down her cheeks, she unsteadily got to her feet, hiding the underwear in her pocket so she wouldn't have to look at it. She sure as fuck didn't want them anymore, would never, ever feel clean putting them on. But she wasn't about to leave them in his car where he could use them for his own pleasure again.

As soon as she threw them down the trash shoot, she went back into her apartment, daring to enter what had once been her safe haven. She wanted to be scared, to think that she had to double check that she was alone, but there was a peace surrounding her, whispering in her ear that Elliot was at the precinct, being interrogated by IAB over something unrelated, leaving her safe.

Her eyes moved slowly over the disarray she'd left behind when they'd gone to the hospital. The blanket piled on the couch that Elliot had so carefully wrapped around her shoulders when she was shaking. The table and lamp laying broken where they'd fallen as he'd scrambled to chase her from her bedroom. Halfway down the hallway was the sheet that had been tangled around her legs.

With a shaking hand, she pushed open her bedroom door. Her bed was a mess, covers thrown down on the far side. The nightstand was upright, but all of items that usually lay atop it were on the floor. The lamp was intact, though the shade was torn and askew. The novel she left there for long nights was resting against the closet door, the bookmark halfway between it and the bed. The alarm clock was on its side, flashing the wrong time, evidence of the cord that was half pulled from the wall.

She could feel it like it was still happening, the crushing weight of his body pushing down on her, his hot breath coming through the mask he wore, his cold eyes staring into hers, his erection eagerly pressing against her body. She sobbed, wrapping her arms around her stomach as she remembered pushing at him, fighting his strong muscles. The memory of his fist striking her face enough to knock the wind from her lungs a second time. She could feel the terror through her once again, recalling how she'd fought and clawed and run from him. There was the horrible sensation of doom following her, knowing he was so tall, so strong, so fast that she'd never be able to get far.

And she remembered the way, when he'd caught up to her in the living room, viciously throwing her to the ground, intent on fucking her, that she'd gone for the mask, promising herself that, if nothing else, she'd be able to identify the bastard who'd dared touch her against her will. She'd thought for a brief moment that he'd never live to see his trial, that Elliot would certainly tear him apart long before he saw the inside of a court room.

The way he'd run away from her, more desperate to hide his identity than to rape her after all.

She cried out from the pain of it. God, she should have known.

Even with a fucking mask covering his face, she should have fucking recognized the son of a bitch she'd spent most of her adult life with.

With a choking sob, she ripped the sheets from the bed, intent on burning them. Hell, she wanted to burn the whole fucking bed, even the apartment. She wanted to burn herself, destroy every bit of herself that he'd touched. She'd spent hours, _hours_, in his arms, clinging to him after he'd tried to fucking rape her. There was something entirely sick about the whole thing, something some psychiatrist needed to treat him for. That he could fucking do that to her, only to comfort her afterwards. No wonder he'd been so eager to stop Cragen from questioning her. He'd probably been terrified the whole time that she would remember that it had been him.

As she threw the sheet to the ground, she heard something hit the floor. Something heavier than a sheet. She wasn't even sure she cared, but it was something to focus on. Something she could expend energy on. She grabbed at the wadded up sheet, shaking it until she heard a ping.

Something metal had fallen from the sheet, rolling across the wood floor and under the bed. She dropped down to her knees, reaching blindly under the bed, grabbing at the small object.

Her heart was in her throat, pounding away and choking her as she pulled the ring in front of her face. She didn't have a fucking wedding ring, so the plain gold band certainly wasn't hers. The size and thickness was decidedly male. She reached out, switching on the lamp without bothering to right it, letting it cast odd shadows from its place on the floor.

She had to wipe the tears from her eyes to read the inscription, knowing from the evidence she'd found in the car what it would say. And there before her was the writing, plain as day, condemning everything she'd ever held sacred in her life.

"E, With Love, K"

She let out a scream of anguish and pain the neighbors were sure to hear before she ran for the bathroom, her stomach rejecting everything she'd ever eaten. She'd never, ever felt so sick. She'd never really wanted to die before that moment.


	9. Chapter 8

Part Eight

Exhausted and shaken as she was, she couldn't rest. She couldn't sit down. As soon as she scraped herself off the bathroom floor, she knew what she had to do. She had a mission to accomplish, a horrible mission that she didn't want to think about, but she knew that as soon as it was done, she could return home and sleep without the fear of being attacked.

Before she could sleep, she had to turn in her attacker.

She had to have her partner arrested for assaulting her.

The tiny ring of metal weighed heavily in her pocket as she made her way up the precinct steps. Although her path was familiar, each step felt like it was carrying her further into the unknown. She'd been there thousands of times, pulling open the heavy steel door, nodding at the front desk sergeant, climbing the staircase, but this time with leaden legs. Her first days at the station, as a cop, hadn't made her feel so insecure, so inadequate, so naïve. Even those first terrifying weeks on the streets, when she'd been certain that she was about to be killed at any moment, either by an angry perp's bullet or her condescending TO's hands, hadn't been so scary. They hadn't left her slightly nauseous, with her stomach somersaulting and her heart skipping every other beat.

And rather than continuing down the hall, making her way to her locker to stash her bag, maybe grabbing a cup of coffee and exchanging barbs with Munch, she stopped at the door to the captain's office. The sound of her knuckles on the glass was sharp and painful, somehow resembling the unmistakable harshness of a hammer on a nail.

She saw the older man nod at her through the half-closed blinds. The hammering echoed in her ears, telling her that it might have been in her head the whole time. That was why she was there after all, to pound the final nail into her partner's coffin. Cragen's face had started in the semblance of a half smile, meaning to reassure her as best he could under the circumstances. He probably assumed she was coming to check on the status of the investigation. It only added to the guilt that she was about to etch a few more lines into his already over-worried forehead.

His feigned smile faltered quickly, reading her anguish as soon as she opened the door. He jumped to his feet, concern edging out the wariness. "Are you ok? Has something else happened?" When she didn't answer, Cragen motioned through the glass behind her. "IAB just got done with Elliot. They must have grilled him pretty hard."

It had taken all of her strength to get that far, to put one foot in front of the other all the way to the precinct, to walk those halls that seemed foreign and unwelcoming. Rather than speaking, which was beyond her for the moment, she collapsed into one of the chairs that were usually reserved for visitors to the captain's office. When the detectives where there, they were always standing, either getting chewed out or offering a quick update on their way somewhere. But she didn't have the strength to stand.

Instead she lifted her eyes, watching Cragen's observant glance as she fished in her pocket for the millstone that had hindered her movements. The gold circle was painfully light in her hand as she dropped it on the captain's blotter, belying the crushing weight of its meaning. Even being without it, she felt heavy and burdened and she supposed that would stay with her for a long, long time. Destroying a man's career, a man's life, was difficult for her, despite the fact that Elliot had certainly done his share to make it as easy as possible for her.

Cragen's face revealed a moment of atypical confusion as he looked from the ring to her face. Finally he shrugged with a smile. "Are you proposing?"

Her voice was thick and hurt and unfamiliar to her when it sounded, seeming like an excruciatingly loud shout in the quiet room. "It's Elliot's." She'd thought that simply finding it, identifying it, had been the worst pain, but speaking the words breathed life into the nightmarish idea, cutting even deeper wounds in her mind and heart. Swallowing hard, she sucked in enough air to force out the rest of the words, hoping they would be enough for him to catch on. She didn't think she'd survive long enough to explain further, not when she was pretty sure she was bleeding to death from the knife wounds in her back. "I found it in my bed."

He seemed to turn the idea over in his head, his cheeks coloring red quickly. His mouth opened, but he thought better of it or perhaps lost the ability to speak altogether. He sat back in his chair, looking slightly ill.

_Welcome to my world_, she thought. But besides looking sick, she slowly noted the blush, the discomfort, and realized he'd missed the point. Damn him for not getting it; damn him for thinking she was confessing to an intimate relationship with her partner of over a decade. She shivered as she shook her head, finding herself wishing that were the case. Destroying both of their careers for a love affair would have been infinitely preferable to presenting the evidence that would land her partner in prison and more or less tear the beating heart out of her chest. Because, even with the circumstantial evidence up to that point, she'd still believed that he couldn't be guilty, that he'd been telling the truth when he'd denied that very thing a day earlier.

"There's no way, Don, he's never-" She tried to suck in another breath, feeling herself sniffling before the tears could even start. "I don't know how it could have gotten there. It was in my sheets." She felt her chest constricting, making her labored breathing even more difficult. "He's never been in my bedroom." A few tears dared trail out, immediately swiped away more from instinct than desire to save face. Being proud and strong didn't make any difference anymore, not when she'd been so very wrong about the most important person in her life. "Not that I know of."

Cragen sat back in his chair; his stare locked on the ring like it was the devil himself. The color drained completely from his face, leaving him so pale as to mirror the color of his shirt. "So you're telling me-"

Fighting back the tears, she took a mental step away, protecting herself as best she could by pretending she was talking about someone else. Some other victim. Some other perp. "He got there too fast." She saw Cragen's eyes flicker toward her for a second in confusion, but they immediately returned to the evidence. "Last night when I was-" She couldn't form the words still, and clumsily found a path around them. "Last night, when it happened, I called him, and he got there too quick."

The captain finally dared turn his attention from the ring before him, his sharp glare sizing up the woman before him. "Olivia, you were terribly shaken up from that attack. Maybe you weren't aware of how long it took for him to get there?" Even with the certainty reverberating from her, Cragen had to be sure. Her words, her accusations, would have devastating consequences on her, on her partner, on her squad. "With what had just happened your perception of time might have been skewed."

She shook her head. That was the one fact that she knew. "I was scared. When I told him I needed him, he said was on his way, he'd be right there and I kept thinking the guy was going to come back-" She choked on her words, realizing for the first time in those terms that _the guy_ had come back, that she'd called _the guy _ to save her, and _the guy_ had known it. "I just stared at the clock, praying that he'd get there soon." Even though she was already sitting down, the words were taking a toll and she hunched over, holding her arms around her stomach to protect herself from the attack that seemed to be happening all over again. "It only took him three minutes to get to me."

Cragen shook his head, wanting to deny it, even as he saw the pain she was in, pain he knew she wasn't faking. "There's no way Elliot could have gotten to your apartment from Queens in three minutes."

She tried to gulp down the air that her sobbing shoulders required, but she sniffled at the same time, forcing herself into a coughing spasm that lasted several seconds. "I know. I didn't pay any attention at the time, I was just so glad to see him." As she said it, she remembered so clearly the terror of hearing her door open and the sheer joy of recognizing her partner's voice. She'd thought he'd come to save her when in fact he was the one who'd left her in that condition. And the bastard had let her sob on his shoulder, had held her in his arms and promised her that he'd keep her safe. That fucker had sworn he'd protect her.

He hadn't mentioned that he'd be protecting her from himself.

"Maybe he was in the neighborhood." Cragen stood up, stepping around his desk to take the seat beside her. As her friend, he wanted to comfort her, to offer her the warm hug that she so desperately needed. But as her captain, he knew an assault victim would not welcome an unexpected touch. He forced his hands to stay in his lap.

She hiccupped, wiping at her tears, picking at some invisible thread in her pants. "I would have let it go, but then-" Her voice cracked and she covered her face with her hands, her muffled voice sounded every bit as hideous as she felt. "I found his ring." As soon as the words left her mouth, she looked up. She wished she could take them back, she wished she hadn't had to say them, she wished he hadn't had to think them, she wished they hadn't been true. She couldn't bring herself to mention the panties she'd found, the evidence she'd destroyed. Somehow, that was worse in her mind, more of a violation. And she wouldn't tell. She couldn't.

For a moment, his face lightened, an idea dawning on him. "Were you still in your room then? Maybe he dropped it when he found you."

She shook her head. "No, I was in the living room. He never went in my bedroom."

Cragen's face was drawn and tight, anger spilling off him in waves. Only his dark eyes reflected emotion, overfull with worry and hurt. "What are you telling me?" It wasn't that he didn't already know; it was that she needed to say it. As the victim, she needed to identify her attacker. As the partner of the perp, she needed to acknowledge what she was doing. Although he doubted that Olivia would have come to him without having thought through her actions.

Trembling, she tried to breathe evenly. Her head was spinning and she knew she was hyperventilating. Listening to her panting breaths, she couldn't help but remember it. The fear of waking up to find someone on top of her. The suffocating weight pushing down on her. The incredible strength that held her back when she tried to fight. The imposing height chasing her when she tried to escape. The smell of a cologne she recognized choking her when she tried to scream.

And the one thing that had been nagging at her since she'd looked up at him – the piercing blue eyes she would have said she'd know anywhere.

Unashamed of her tear-streaked face or her racking sobs, she lifted her head to face Cragen. "How else could his ring have gotten there?" Her breath hitched, her words cementing the idea in her head exactly as she'd feared they would, killing her from the inside out. "It had to be Elliot who tried to rape me."


	10. Chapter 9

Part Nine

Olivia's world seemed to be entirely comprised of fog, both internally and externally. Her brain didn't seem to be working at all. Nothing seemed real, not the past, not the current. She simply sat there, staring in disbelief or shock or despair or something. It was better, she guessed, than that overwhelming pain she'd felt since discovering her thong under Elliot's seat. Perhaps enhanced by the lack of sleep, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.

She heard Cragen's voice, coming from somewhere behind her, and she turned to look, realizing that the man no longer occupied the chair next to her. She had no idea how long he'd been gone, but she suspected it was too long for her to not have noticed. With some forced concentration, she focused her eyes on him and tried to make sense of the words.

He was standing beside Elliot's desk, face to face with the man who'd turned her world backwards and upside down and inside out, the older man's voice pinched with the effort to not lose his temper. "Interview room. Now."

Elliot's face, which Olivia had only so recently discovered she wasn't any good at reading, seemed confused, but she didn't trust anything she saw there. "What? What's going on?" His stare turned suddenly, finding Olivia's presence in Cragen's office, his eyes seeming to sharpen. He took a step toward her, but was hindered by Cragen stepping in front of him.

"Get your ass in the interview room now before I have someone put you there." Cragen's anger showed in his words and voice and in the dark stare coming from his eyes.

Olivia was glad he wasn't that mad at her. It made her shiver to realize that he was that mad for her.

Elliot's face turned to her again, questioning, searching, knowing she had something to do with the situation, but clearly unable to grasp the concept that he'd been caught red-handed. "What the fuck?" Even as he muttered and shot a last curious glance at Olivia, he obeyed Cragen's directive.

Munch and Fin were just returning from somewhere, each accompanied by a woman Olivia recognized from her building. The one with Munch grabbed his arm, nodding in the direction of Elliot and Cragen's disappearing frames.

"I don't need a sketch artist. That's the guy, right there." The young brunette was pointing beyond where Olivia could see, but it didn't matter. Olivia knew exactly who she was pointing at.

Munch, on the other hand, was rather surprised. "Which one of them?"

"The taller one." The girl sounded sure.

"Elliot." Munch called the man's name, succeeding in getting his attention. Then he looked at the girl who Olivia realized was serving as a witness. "Is that the man you saw?"

The girl nodded. "Absolutely. He held the elevator for me."

Disappointed because he didn't realize that Elliot being in Olivia's building was anything out of the ordinary, Munch sat the girl at his desk and walked back to where Olivia was still sitting. "Sorry, I thought I had a great witness for you. She said she got a good look at a guy outside your place last night." He shrugged. "I'm sure we'll find someone who saw something besides Elliot."

Olivia stood up, her shaky feet unsteady as she crossed in front of Munch. "I wouldn't be so sure."

Munch ignored her, turning to his partner who was taking notes from the other woman. "Fin, what did you find?"

Smiling politely at the woman, Fin looked up. "She saw a car parked outside the building last night with someone inside."

Thinking she was supposed to join in, the woman turned toward them and nodded. "He was there on my way to my aerobics class and he was still there on my way back and I even stopped to buy a latte."

Fin shrugged. "Didn't get a look at his face, though?"

She shook her head. "No, it was too dark. But I can describe the car."

Olivia sighed, muttering under her breath at Munch. "Let me guess, a dark blue Chevy with scratches on the passenger side door."

Munch looked at her, thinking he was catching on. "Elliot's car?"

Without bothering to answer, Olivia moved past him, running her hand along the wall to help her rubbery legs support her. The bullpen was oddly silent, except for a low, persistent buzzing sound, and Olivia was fairly sure it was all in her head. In fact, some part of her recognized that she was going to wind up on the floor if she didn't eat something soon. But the idea of food sickened her. Even water seemed like it would be too much for her system.

She carefully made her way to the interrogation room observation area. Although Cragen hadn't said anything to her, she knew he expected her to wait, probably in his office. But it was her partner he was questioning. About her assault.

The fuck she was staying out of it.

She pressed the button on the speaker, filling the dark room with Cragen's voice.

"Where's your wedding ring, Elliot?"

Elliot's eyes were narrowed, his hands clenched in front of him. He was uncomfortable, Olivia thought, but more from confusion than understanding of the boat he was in. Finally he shrugged. "On my dresser where I left it."

"You sure of that?"

Elliot swallowed, his eyes moving around as he searched his memory. "That's where I left it."

"When?"

He shrugged.

"Come on, Elliot, you're telling me you don't know when you saw your wedding ring last?"

"I haven't been wearing it." Elliot's eyes darted down, like he was embarrassed. Or he was lying. Olivia couldn't tell. And she couldn't swear to the last time she'd actually seen the ring on his finger. But the man was married. She'd stopped noticing the ring a long time ago.

"So to the best of your knowledge, your wedding ring is sitting at your house on your dresser." Cragen stopped pacing and turned to lean his hands on the table across from Elliot.

Elliot sighed, still not getting it. Of course, Olivia chastised herself, she couldn't be sure what was real and what was fake. Not from him, not anymore. "Yes. I left the ring on my dresser. A couple days ago, I guess. That's where it is."

Cragen reached for his pocket, pulling out an evidence bag, tossing it on the table with a thunk that made Olivia shiver. "Try again."

Elliot reached for the bag, automatically checking to be sure the ring was his. His mouth fell open as he looked up at his boss. "Where did you find it?"

Cragen was practically snarling. "Olivia found it."

She watched as Elliot's eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. It appeared that he was starting to get it. He dropped the bag back on the table like it had burned him. "Where did she find it?"

"Why don't you tell me? Tell me what rooms you've been in at Olivia's."

Elliot's expression was growing darker by the second, the veins standing out on his neck a testament to the fact that Cragen's physical safety was going to be threatened very soon. "What the hell is going on here?"

Cragen likely recognized the signs of Elliot's impending outburst, though Olivia doubted he was quite as familiar with them as she was. Still, he ignored it, an action which usually only incensed Elliot further. "Tell me what rooms you've been in at Olivia's. It's not a hard question, Elliot."

He stood up, shoving his chair back into the wall. "I want to know what the fuck is going on here."

"Sit down." Cragen's eyes were just as dark as Elliot's, something far more frightening simply because Olivia had never seen him so angry. When Elliot didn't move, Cragen walked around, standing directly in front of him, daring Elliot to do something stupid. "Sit your ass in that chair, Elliot."

Seething, Elliot did as he was told. "I want to talk to Olivia."

"You'll be staying the fuck away from her from here on out if you know what's good for you."

Elliot's eyes widened, and Olivia found herself believing reality had truly just dawned on him. "You don't think-why-" He looked down, swallowing hard, his face contorting with pain and shock and anger. "You think I hurt her? I would never hurt Olivia. Never. I'd die first."

She had to give him credit. He was one hell of an actor. At that moment, she would have sworn he was telling the truth. It took everything she had left to stand there, watching silently as Cragen continued to question Elliot. Every night something questionable had happened, Elliot claimed to be home, even nights Olivia herself had known him to be somewhere else. At one point, Elliot mentioned getting a lawyer, but Cragen shut him down, reminding him that he hadn't been arrested yet, taunting him as to how guilty he would look if he refused to talk without a mouthpiece.

When she couldn't take it anymore, when she seriously started to think that she might step in there, stop Cragen, defend her partner, she had to walk away. She didn't know what it would take for her to overcome that instinct. She decided it would probably be sometime after she started to believe any of it had really happened.

Returning to the bullpen, she saw a familiar blonde woman waiting by Elliot's desk. Olivia groaned. She barely believed Elliot capable of what he'd done. She'd already had to tell Cragen; she couldn't believe that she'd have to tell Elliot's wife as well.

"Kathy."

She turned with a smile that faltered as soon as her eyes fell on Olivia's bruised cheek. "Are you ok, Olivia?"

Squeezing her eyes shut, she didn't bother to answer. She simply took Kathy's elbow, directing the woman whose arms were full of a squirming toddler toward Cragen's office. "Let's talk in here."

Kathy's face paled and her steps faltered. "Oh, god, what happened?"

"Nothing. Elliot's fine," Olivia lied.

Kathy was still panicked, disbelieving Olivia's claim. "I was so mad. Elliot didn't pick up Eli at the babysitter and I had to leave work to go get him. I just assumed he forgot or something."

Olivia doubted that "or something" included being questioned by his boss about assaulting his partner. Pulling in a deep breath, Olivia tried to put herself in cop mode despite the dream-like quality that was still hanging over everything. They already had evidence against Elliot; a broken alibi was all they needed to arrest him.

"Kathy, was Elliot home last night?" She started with the easy one, knowing he hadn't been, knowing there were already two witnesses that put him somewhere else.

Kathy looked confused, a nervous laugh escaping her lips. "How should I know?"

Olivia tried not to see Eli, fidgeting unhappily in his mother's arms. She tried not to see her partner's wife, waiting nervously for visual confirmation that Elliot was uninjured. "Look, Kathy, it's really important. I need to know where Elliot was last night between six and eight."

Kathy started to understand something was very, very wrong. "I don't know where he was."

Olivia nodded, glad that Kathy wasn't lying. "What about four nights ago? Wednesday night. Was he home then?" She was trying to keep the days straight in her head, when her pajamas moved, when her lingerie drawer was messed up, when her thong had disappeared, when the rose had appeared.

"Wednesday was five nights ago." Kathy, who'd probably gotten more sleep in the previous few weeks, knew what day it was. She shifted Eli to her other hip. "I don't know where he was, Olivia."

Olivia squeezed her eyes closed, certain she was going to drop any minute. "I know this seems stupid, but it's really important. I need to know if Elliot was home when he said he was."

Kathy sighed, fixing Olivia with an intense stare. "Elliot moved out about two months ago, so if he was home at his apartment, I can't help you. We're getting a divorce." She searched Olivia's face as she spoke. "You didn't know?"

Olivia shook her head, dropping into the chair she'd occupied earlier. Elliot hadn't given any indication that he was having problems with Kathy, unless she counted the constant drinking and attitude problem and lies.

"Besides, aren't you more likely to know where he is anyway?"

Olivia looked up, hearing the annoyance and not comprehending it. "How would I know?"

Kathy sat down carefully in the chair beside Olivia, shifting Eli around in her lap. "When he left me, he said there was someone else and that he couldn't stay married to me when he was in love with another woman."

Feeling like she'd been sucker punched and not quite sure why, Olivia somehow managed to hold back the howl of pain. She shook her head, unable to look the other woman in the eye. "I didn't know."

"I wasn't really surprised, I mean, I've kind of thought he had one foot out the door for a while." Kathy pressed a kiss onto Eli's curls and shrugged half-heartedly. "I asked him if I knew her and he said yes." She looked over, waiting until Olivia looked up. "I just assumed it was you so I didn't ask anymore questions."

Shaking her head, Olivia felt like someone had pulled yet another rug out from under her. "No, no, it's not me." Maybe Elliot hadn't wanted to tell her about his girlfriend. Maybe he thought she'd be mad. Maybe all those lies he'd told her had been an attempt to protect her feelings, designed to keep her from finding out he was seeing someone. But even if the lies made some kind of sense, nothing else did. Following her. Stealing from her. Trying to rape her. Choking on the lump in her throat, Olivia started to think Kathy had been right, that Elliot had left Kathy for her, except that Elliot had left Kathy to stalk her. Twisted, yes. Sick, yes. In need of psychiatric treatment, yes. But possible, absolutely.

Kathy's hand was warm when it tapped Olivia's shaking one. "Olivia, what's going on?"

The cop in her tried to take charge once again. His alibi was useless, home alone wasn't going to cut it. "Elliot's going to be arrested."

"What?" Kathy was on her feet in a second, squeezing Eli in panic.

Olivia tried to stand, but her legs wouldn't cooperate, so she stayed where she was. "He's being arrested for attempted rape, among other various charges. You should probably warn the kids." She knew, based on the sensational aspects, it would probably hit the papers. Cop goes crazy, attacks partner. Just what they all needed; more reporters prying into their lives.

"She's lying! Whoever she is! Elliot would never hurt a woman, not like that!" Kathy was all restless energy, moving from one side of Cragen's office to the other, grabbing Olivia's hand and clawing at it. "He might be thoughtless, but you know him. You know he's not like that!"

Olivia wished she could have that utter faith back. She'd had it that morning and it hurt so much to lose it. She could only shake her head, feeling Kathy's nails digging into her skin. "She's not lying, Kathy." She forced herself to stand, feeling that she needed to be on her feet to argue.

"How do you know?"

Looking at Kathy, she felt the tears start to spill. "Because he tried to rape me."

The clawing at her skin stopped, her hand dropping heavily to her side when Kathy released it. She heard Kathy's voice, quiet, scared, meek, but she couldn't hear the words. There was another voice, a deeper one, but she couldn't even figure out whose it was. The voices faded away, buried behind the sound of her heart pounding in her ears. She could hear herself breathing and wondered why it was so loud. The whole office seemed to slip away, at first graying around the edges of her vision, then closing in until there was only blackness.

Luckily, Kathy's frantic cries had summoned Fin's attention so Olivia didn't hit the floor when her legs buckled.


	11. Chapter 10

Part Ten

When she came to, Munch was hovering at her side, sliding his arm behind her shoulders to help her sit up. "Take it easy, Liv."

Fin was just returning, a can of soda and a pack of crackers in his hand. "Here you go, baby. Have a couple bites before you try to get up."

She batted both of them away, unsure that she could possibly get even a single bite down. "Where's Kathy?" She put her hands out, aiming for the ground, but Munch and Fin caught her, each taking a side and helping her to her feet.

Though Fin was able to be shrugged off, Munch didn't let go of her until she was seated at her desk. "Kathy's gone. She said she had to take the baby home." He snagged the items from Fin and placed them in front of her, opening both the soda and the crackers as though she was too delicate to do it herself. "Now eat at least one of those and take a couple sips or I'm going to go tell your partner that you just passed out and just see if he lets you out of his sight for the next week."

The mention of her partner made her shiver. But she didn't have the strength to tell another person that Elliot was the man who'd attacked her. So she reached for a cracker with a shaking hand, breaking off a corner and putting it in her mouth. Her stomach was rolling still, her head wrapped in fog. She didn't want to have to make a run for the bathroom to be sick. She wasn't sure she'd get to the bathroom before she collapsed again. She was barely able to keep herself sitting up.

She managed to get half a cracker down and take two sips of the soda. It was enough to distract Munch. Her attention focused on the crackers, staring at them, pushing them around, brushing the crumbs off her hands. There were other things she needed to do, but she couldn't bring herself to think about them.

There were footsteps, the soft sound of a man's heel on the tile floor. She knew better than to think Elliot would be coming, but it was a habit that had formed years ago and she felt a twinge of disappointment to see Cragen come around the corner. He held her gaze for a moment and she could see the wheels turning as he tried to decide what to do or say. He looked about as devastated as she felt, though at least he was still on his feet rather than slumped over a desk playing with his food.

It only took her a few short moments to bring him up to speed on what she'd found out from Kathy. He'd moved out. He had no one who would vouch for him. He had no alibi. Olivia was pretty sure he'd been hoping for something else.

Finally, he just looked away, approaching the pair of detectives a few feet away. "John, I need you to tell Elliot that he's about to be placed under arrest. Have him call his PBA rep. I'm going to notify Greyleck before we book him."

Munch stared at Cragen for a long time, then turned to see if Fin had any idea what was happening. Slowly he turned to Olivia, who only avoided eye contact. "What? Why?"

"For attempted rape, assault, battery, stalking, that'll be a good start until Greyleck can come up with more to add to the list." Cragen turned away, ducking into his office and grabbing the phone to call Greyleck before anyone could pester him with questions.

_Lucky him_, Olivia thought, knowing the questions would instead fall on her. She reluctantly lifted her eyes, expecting to be peppered with questions, thinking she'd rather eat a four-course meal than explain the pieces of the story Munch and Fin didn't have.

But Munch and Fin were atypically silent, their usual curiosity and banter squashed under the weight of the moment. Munch rose from his desk, quietly following the captain's directive without objection. Fin swallowed so hard it was audible and turned his eyes away from her. When Munch returned, he immediately immersed himself in something that kept him from saying a word. She was utterly thankful for the silence.

Olivia watched as Cragen made his phone call and summoned the strength to join him as he made his way back to the interrogation room. She tried to make her voice sound as normal as possible so he wouldn't throw her out of the station. Although she knew she was safe at home, she didn't feel right leaving. Not yet. "Did he say anything?"

Cragen winced, his steps slowing as soon as they neared interrogation. "No, not really." He let out a breath that Olivia figured he'd been holding for a long time. "He keeps asking for you. I keep telling him that's not going to happen, but, well, you know Elliot." His voice faltered as the words fell out, as though he realized just a hair too late that it wasn't the right thing to say.

She understood his meaning, though. Whether she wanted to acknowledge it or not, she did know that Elliot wasn't about to stop asking for something simply because it had been deemed impossible. But her mind flashed to the information Kathy had given her and she realized that Cragen was dead wrong. She didn't know a damn thing about Elliot besides whatever bullshit he decided to snow her with on any given day. She shook her head. "No, I really don't."

Cragen nodded, not arguing because there was no point. "You know I'd advise you against listening in, but-"

"I know." She nodded and tried to ready herself for anything Cragen might be able to wrestle out of Elliot. "And so do you."

With a nod, he reached for the door. "Yeah, I do."

Elliot was on his feet the minute Cragen walked in, but his disappointed face revealed he'd been looking for someone else. "Where's Olivia?"

Cragen shook his head. "Did you call a lawyer?"

"Yeah, she's on her way." Elliot sat back down, his expression returning to one that Olivia would have previously labeled devastated, except that she refused to give herself any credit any longer for being able to identify anything Elliot was really feeling.

"Do you want to wait until she gets here?" Cragen's voice and face remained professional and stoic. Olivia had to give him credit for being able to put aside any personal feelings. She'd proven a hundred times that she wasn't necessarily able to do the same.

Elliot's elbows were propped on the table, his face in his hands as he rubbed his eyes. "I don't care. I don't have anything to hide, but it appears that's beside the point."

Concentrating on the file folder in front of him, Cragen took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Ok, so you never told me how you gained access to Olivia's apartment. How'd you get in?"

"The only way I've ever gotten into her apartment is by knocking on the door and waiting for her to answer."

His hands were restless, moving continuously from separate fists to entwined fingers and back again. It was a nervous tell, something she'd always looked for in perps to determine if she was on the right track. So he was nervous. The only question was why.

"But, I, uh-" He made a face as if to say he really wished he hadn't made a sound.

"But you what?" Cragen's eyes were off the file, the details of the case that he'd put together so far. His stare was fixed on Elliot's, looking for a weakness, hoping for a confession.

"I have a key." Elliot broke the eye contact, choosing to look at his hands instead.

"How did you get a key?" For a brief second, the icy exterior cracked, revealing a boss who didn't necessarily want to hear the answer. It angered Olivia, because she'd thought she'd made it perfectly clear that there was nothing he had to worry about hearing.

"She gave me one, ten years ago." He shrugged. "In case of an emergency or something. I've never used it."

"Does she have one to your place?" The question seemed innocent enough, but Olivia knew what he was hinting at. Elliot hadn't told anyone that he'd moved out, so although Cragen didn't know whether or not Olivia had a key to his house, he knew Olivia certainly didn't have a key to the apartment he'd neglected to mention living in.

"She has a key to the house." Elliot obviously enjoyed splitting hairs. The statement was entirely true, she knew, he'd just failed to mention that her key was to the house he didn't live in anymore.

Cragen nodded, making a notation in the file. "So she could pop in and visit you any time she wanted, right?"

Elliot's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. "You talked to Kathy, didn't you?"

Cragen didn't say a word, but he looked up from the papers.

"Oh, fuck." Elliot's face dropped back into his hands. "Shit. Does Olivia know?"

Cragen shook his head, seeming amazed at how well Elliot was playing the worried partner rather than the obsessed stalker. "Why don't we keep on track here?"

"Look, you don't understand, Don! Kathy thinks I left her for Olivia. I really don't want Liv to find out like this."

"Find out what?" Cragen's blank stare was almost back in place, but Olivia knew if she could see the discomfort, so could Elliot.

"I'm not playing fucking word games with you!" He stood up, kicking at his chair until he succeeded in knocking it over. "Some asshole is out there, trying to hurt Olivia, and you're in here trying to find out if something inappropriate is going on between your detectives. You're worried about IAB busting your ass when you should be worried about protecting Olivia!"

Olivia fought back tears as she tried to deny the honesty in his voice. He sounded so much like the man she'd known for so many years, like the partner she'd come to trust more than her own instincts. But she had to remember that he wasn't that man. That man didn't exist anymore, maybe he never had. She wasn't looking at the man she could trust with her life, knowing he'd die himself before he'd let any harm come her way. She wasn't looking at her partner. She was looking at the freak who'd jerked off in his car with her panties in his hand.

With a sigh, Cragen shook his head and ignored Elliot's outburst. "Why don't we get back to the discussion of the keys, then?"

Elliot glared at his boss and then kicked his chair halfway across the room. For a moment, both Olivia and Cragen tensed, wondering if he was finally going to lose it. Olivia had never seen Elliot manage to keep such a tight grip on his temper and she figured he was bound to lose it soon. But perhaps he realized more was riding on his control than ever had before.

Because after he took a deep breath, Elliot quietly righted his chair, pushed it back to the table and sat down across from Cragen. His voice was calm, cool, obviously forcibly controlled. "Please, Don, just tell me how she is. Is she ok?"

Cragen's face fell, sheer disbelief showing. "How the hell do you think she is?"

"God, worse than she was this morning if she actually believes this bullshit." He dropped his face into his hands. "Please let me talk to her."

A wry laugh escaped Cragen's lips. "You're going for that insanity defense, aren't you?"

Elliot lifted his head and Olivia could have sworn there were tears glistening in his eyes. "I would never hurt her. She knows that. Just let me talk to her."

"What makes you think she wants to talk to you?"

"Because she doesn't believe that I would hurt her. I know she doesn't."

Cragen looked away. Olivia wasn't sure if it was because he was falling for Elliot's innocent act or if he just didn't want to watch it anymore. "She turned you in, dumbass. She knows it was you. She knows you did try to hurt her. She doesn't want to talk to you."

Olivia didn't know what to do when she watched Elliot's tears finally spill over. She stared as he broke down, seeing the disbelief give way to shock and then to anguish. She reached out for the speaker controls, unable to listen to the way he sobbed. She couldn't stand to look at it anymore either, feeling no satisfaction or justification in the way he was suffering. Turning away, she sank down to the floor, wishing she could hate him, wishing she could find pleasure knowing that he was hurting, wishing she could deny the instinct she still felt to comfort him.

She didn't expect anyone to intrude on her at that moment and nearly jumped out of her skin when she someone strode right past her, throwing open the door. It took her a moment to climb to her feet, curious to see who had just stormed into the questioning she hadn't been able to listen to.

A tall, thin redhead, dressed impeccably in a navy blue suit that Olivia instantly knew cost more than anything she owned, was standing at the side of the table, adjacent to both Elliot and Cragen. Her eyes turned to Cragen with a smile that reminded Olivia of a shark about to bite.

"This interview is over." She placed her briefcase on the table and moved to take a seat, pausing to look at Cragen like he was an annoying insect buzzing about her picnic. "I'm Detective Stabler's attorney. I'd like some time with my client, please." It was the tone of voice generals commanded armies with and Cragen, though glaring, obeyed it as such.

Olivia swallowed hard, looking over the attractive woman, wondering with a particularly painful stab in her chest if that was the other woman who'd cost Kathy a husband. She couldn't blame Elliot if she was. He appeared to have much better taste than she'd thought. But as Cragen stepped through the door and pulled it closed behind him, she saw the woman put her hand out toward Elliot in an attempt to shake his hand.

She pressed the button on the speaker, ignoring Cragen's warning as he left that nothing she heard would be admissible. She didn't care what happened legally. She just needed to understand.

"I'm Amanda Carlisle. The PBA contacted me to take your case." She waited until Elliot reluctantly shook her hand before she sat down. "I want to get a few things clear right up front."

Elliot held up his hand, sniffling and rubbing at his red eyes. "I can't possibly afford you. I want a public defender."

Olivia felt a pang of fear at his words, knowing she'd never trust her career to anyone less than the best. She'd sell everything she had and then sell herself into a lifetime worth of debt. Then she realized that Elliot, who'd given everything except his fifteen-year-old car to Kathy, didn't have anything left.

"I come with the badge." Carlisle smiled and pulled a yellow legal pad from her bag along with a pen. "Those things I wanted to get straight? First, I don't care if you're guilty. But if you are, don't tell me. I find it's much easier to argue vehemently in your defense if I don't know you're a psycho." She pulled the cap off the pen and set it aside. "Second, don't touch me, except to shake my hand, ever. I have pepper spray and I've used it on my own clients before, so don't tempt me."

Elliot just stared as she continued through a list of rules as though she was a prison warden.

"Are we clear?"

Elliot nodded mutely.

"Good. With that said, let's get down to business." She pulled a file folder from her bag, opening it up to reveal a few typed pages. "So, you tried to rape your partner." She tucked her lips between her teeth and narrowed her eyes. "Maybe it was a misunderstanding?"

Elliot's mouth fell open, mirroring the flabbergasted expression on Olivia's face. "I didn't hurt her. I wouldn't hurt her. Jesus, what kind of a sick fuck do you think I am?"

Carlisle smiled. "I don't care what kind of a sick fuck you are. As long as you stay out of prison and hopefully remain employed with the NYPD, I'll continue getting raises. So, your partner, is she a slut? If she sleeps around, this is a no-brainer."

She didn't know why, but Olivia felt a bit better to see the horrified, sickened look on Elliot's face.

"I didn't hurt my partner! It was someone else. Someone's trying to hurt her and as long as everyone thinks it's me, no one's looking out for her. I have to talk to her. I have to protect her."

Carlisle shook her head, sighing like she was dealing with someone far beneath her. "Look, Elliot, I'll be honest. If I manage to perform a small miracle and keep you out of prison, you're going to have to leave her alone. I don't know how to say this gently, so I'm not going to try. She's not interested. Deal with it. Move on. Find someone else or write a bunch of poems about unrequited love, do whatever you need to do. Just leave her the fuck alone!"

Deciding she couldn't take anymore, Olivia turned off the speaker and went back to her desk. If she kept listening to Elliot profess his innocence, she wasn't going to be able to continue believing in his guilt. And she needed to. She needed to keep her guard up and not let him get near her again. God only knew what he was capable of. And she suspected, with that Carlisle woman on his side, he'd wind up looking more innocent than a newborn baby.

An hour or maybe a year later, Cragen was by her desk, talking to her, but it took him three tries before she ever realized it. She asked him to repeat himself twice more before she understood his words.

"Is his lawyer still in there?"

Olivia nodded, then shrugged. "She was when I left, but-" She shrugged again. But the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy could have danced past her without her even noticing.

"Ok." Cragen turned away, but then looked back. "Crime scene checked again and said there's no chance your lock was picked. He must have used his key."

The words clicked, about the only thing that had all day, although she had to admit it had been several hours since the first time she'd heard Cragen mention keys. "Elliot doesn't have a key."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "He said you gave him one years ago. Are you sure you didn't?"

"No, I did." She shook her head, confusing herself as to which words she intended to come out. "He said something weird the other night about using his key." It felt like someone had punched her again as pieces of it fell into place. "It bugged me, so I got my locks changed and I didn't give him a new key." She sniffled, only then realizing she had already started to cry again. "My keys disappeared a couple days later and then Elliot showed up, claiming I'd left them on my desk. But I know I didn't." She took a couple breaths, trying not to notice the attention she was drawing. "I didn't even think about it, but-"

"I'm getting his keys. That will answer that question then." Cragen didn't get more than a foot away.

"I have them."

"What?" Cragen looked confused, and upset, probably because her contact might have bad consequences if the matter came up in court. "Why?"

She pulled them out of her pocket. "Because he insisted that I take his car home this morning."

"Jesus, this is really fucked up." He shook his head as he looked through the collection of keys on the ring, finally separating one from the rest. "This one looks brand new, the cuts are still rough."

Wiping at her tears, Olivia fished her own keys out of her other pocket. "It could be his apartment, right? I mean, he just moved, you know?"

"Two months ago." Cragen's mouth pressed into a thin line as he picked through Olivia's keys, noting the newest one and comparing it to the one on Elliot's ring. "It's a perfect match." He held them up, showing Olivia, knowing she needed to see the proof, understanding she still couldn't believe it. "He must have made a copy."

Shaking, Olivia sat down again. Every single piece of evidence was concrete and pointed directly at her partner. As smart as he was, he had to be the dumbest criminal of all time.

"We've got witnesses that put him outside your door, hours before you called him. He's got a copy of the key you never gave him. You found his ring." He leaned down, lowering his voice. "I know this is difficult for you, Olivia, but the evidence is solid. Elliot did it, you told me that much yourself. We can prove it. He's not going to get away with hurting you."

His harsh words, meant to comfort, gave her the surge of energy she needed to stand up and walk around him.

"Olivia, where are you going?"

She shook her head, knowing no one was going to talk her out of it. "I have to know why. I have to talk to him."

"Olivia-"

She didn't hear his argument. She didn't care. There was only one person who could explain things to her. Throwing open the door to the interrogation room, she heard Carlisle's ardent exclamation of how Elliot's rights were being violated. And Olivia didn't give a damn.

"I want to talk to him." The adrenaline that had sent her storming in there was gone, reduced to a constant trembling she couldn't hide.

Carlisle looked between her and Elliot, who'd jumped to his feet as soon as she walked in. She held her hand up to stop him from saying a word. "You're Benson, right?" She didn't wait for an answer. "You'll get your chance in court. Get the hell out."

Elliot stepped forward, around the table, around Carlisle's outstretched arm. "Liv, what the hell is going on?"

Carlisle moved too, stepping in front of Elliot before he could get any closer to Olivia. "This is a really bad idea, Elliot."

He glanced at her momentarily, but his eyes quickly returned to Olivia's. "I want to talk to her."

"Ok. You want to hang yourself, go ahead." She gathered her papers and shoved them roughly into her bag, sitting down heavily and crossing her arms over her chest.

Olivia was mesmerized by Elliot's face, by the display of emotion she wanted to believe was real. He looked so grateful, so relieved, so happy to see her. But Olivia didn't know what to make of him, not really. She looked at Carlisle. "I want to talk to him alone."

Carlisle laughed, an angry, mock laugh. "No chance in hell."

Elliot turned on her, his eyes dark and threatening. "Go."

With a sharp glare and a sigh, she stood, grabbing her briefcase. "Fine. I'm sure you're not going to listen to me when I tell you not to say anything to her, but I'm saying it anyway, just so I don't get disbarred." She moved between Elliot and Olivia. "Keep your mouth shut and maybe, just maybe, you'll keep your freedom. I'll see you at arraignment tomorrow then." Then she was gone, slamming the door behind her.


	12. Chapter 11

Part Eleven

The sound seemed to echo, if only in her ears, due to the unnatural silence that surrounded her. For all his asking to see her, it appeared that Elliot didn't actually have anything to say to her.

But she'd been the one to stride in there, all strength and fearlessness, so she knew it was up to her to speak. "We found the key."

Whatever he'd expected, her words weren't among them. "What?"

"You have my key on your key ring. That's how you got in." She was proud of herself for keeping her voice strong and steady despite feeling anything but.

"Of course I have your key, but I never used it." He moved one leg, meaning to step forward, but he aborted the move when she tensed. "I would never invade your privacy like that, Liv."

She snorted. Her privacy wasn't exactly what she was worried about him invading. He'd tried to invade her body only the night before. "I changed my locks, Elliot. And you must have tried to get in and found that out and then stole my keys so you could make yourself a copy."

Once again, Elliot looked crushed. "No, no, Liv, I didn't. I would never do that." He almost seemed to collapse into the chair, looking every bit as awful as she'd felt all day. "I didn't even know you changed your locks."

And strangely, it made her feel better to know he was upset. "You did do it. You loaned me your car, Elliot. You must have thought I'd never guess that it was you."

He looked up at her, shaking his head. "It wasn't me. You have to believe that. You have to be careful. Somebody is out there, trying to hurt you, and he's making it look like it was me."

"Then how'd your wedding ring get in my sheets?" She put her hands on her hips, feeling certain she had a point he couldn't talk his way around.

"I haven't been wearing it. He must have stolen it."

"Who? Who the hell wants me to think it was you?" It seemed to her that someone was going to an awful lot of trouble to leave evidence behind to frame Elliot while leaving none in his wake to indicate himself.

He stood up again, stepping toward her, forgetting that her automatic response was to back away in fear. The action made him pause, leaving his voice to sound defeated when he spoke. "Who bought the flowers? Cause it wasn't me."

"You had someone else buy them."

"And made sure he gave my name? Come on, Liv, don't be stupid."

He had a point, the thing with the roses didn't make any sense, but she didn't appreciate him calling her stupid either. She decided he was just trying to play a game with her, trying to get her so confused she'd believe him. She wasn't about to let him win. "You left something else in your car, something you stole from my bedroom. Remember?"

His eyes narrowed, surprised that she wasn't buying his shit. "I didn't steal anything from you and I've never been in your bedroom."

The tense, angry sound of his voice reminded her of the attack, when his hands had conveyed the message rather than his voice, when he'd struck her and pulled at her clothes. Determined not to cry again, at least, not in front of him, she forced the terrifying images from her mind, pushing them down and away.

Instead she focused on the thong, the violation still palpable, yet in an entirely different way. She grabbed the back of one of the chairs with both hands, making them as still as she could so he wouldn't know how scared she was. "Remember the underwear you stole off my bed? I found them under the seat of your car, caked with –" Best intentions aside, the words choked her. One of her hands released the chair, moving up to cover her mouth as she let out a sob.

"Liv, I didn't- I wouldn't-" He moved forward again, coming to her side, reaching for her. His eyes were wet, tears spilling forth.

She yelped and jerked away, pushing the chair between them. She didn't want to feel his hands on her again. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of touching her. Not again. Never again.

He raised his hands, holding his palms open to her as if to convince her he wasn't a threat, backing away slowly. His face was contorted, hurt and scared and angry. But yet, relieved. She didn't know why and she didn't like it.

"Olivia, test my DNA. I promise you it's not going to match. I would never hurt you, Liv. You know that. You have to remember that."

The words hurt. Not just because he was lying to her again, swearing to a lie. But because he had to know how she would have reacted to finding her panties like that, knowing what he'd done with them. He had to know she wouldn't have been able to stand there objectively and bag them as evidence.

His face slowly lit up in a smile, his whole body relaxing. "Jesus, I wish you'd said something. Cragen's getting the needle ready for me. You have DNA on the fucker, Liv." He stopped to look in her eyes, to hold her stunned gaze. "We've got him now. You'll be ok. I can protect you and we'll find that son of a bitch."

She was choking again, the lump in her throat keeping words from forming, keeping thoughts from forming. He was so happy, so sure, so at ease. He couldn't possibly be that sure she'd tossed the evidence. And she'd never known him to be that good of a liar, not with all that Catholic guilt. But she couldn't let his words make sense. She couldn't let him be honest. Because then she'd thrown away the evidence that would have absolved him.

She started shaking her head, denying his words, denying his belief.

"Liv, what? What's wrong?" He tried stepping forward again, but she was already moving toward the door.

"No. No, I can't."

"Olivia, can't what? You have evidence that will clear me, you have to turn it over!" His joy morphed back into anger, his words growing louder.

She kept shaking her head, trying to get the words out. "No. There's no evidence. I don't know what you're talking about." She pulled open the door, finding Cragen and Munch on the other side, terrified that they'd heard the conversation.

But they seemed to only be interested in her distress, telling her that everything was ok, that they were arresting Elliot, that he wouldn't get another chance to hurt her.

The fog was closing in around her again as she walked to her desk, hearing Munch's voice reciting the Miranda rights to Elliot long after she was out of earshot. She felt like rubber again, shaky and unstable and weak. With nothing else to do, put her head down on her desk, unable to watch when Munch and Cragen walked Elliot past her in handcuffs.

She couldn't move, didn't move, not even when he called her name.

She couldn't move, didn't move, not even when he called out a warning that she wasn't safe.

She wasn't sure, but it kind of sounded like a threat.

Pure exhaustion drove her to pass out right at her desk. She awoke to a gentle shaking that was just irritating enough for her to push it away. But then it returned and somewhere in the back of her head she recognized her name. Her eyes blinked open, seeing a hand on her shoulder.

A flash of panic had her upright and hyperventilating a moment later.

But there was no one attacking her, no one trying to hurt her. There was only Fin, clearly bothered for having disturbed her.

"Hey, Liv, I just thought you might want to go lay down in the crib." He shrugged, looking for words to say and she knew there weren't any that he would ever think of that would make her feel better. "Or I could give you a lift home, if you'd rather."

Elliot was in lock-up for the night, so home was safe. But she was too tired to deal with going there. And she feared that the trip, and the small talk she'd have to make on the way, would leave her too wide awake to go back to sleep. So she shook her head, standing slowly, testing to make sure her legs were working.

"I'll go upstairs."

"Here, take these. You might need them." Fin's hand was offering her the crackers she'd spent the day pushing around on her desk.

Surprisingly, she started to think she was hungry. Or maybe she would be in the future. She accepted them and offered him a small smile in return. "Thanks."

Morning surprised her as well, arriving much sooner than she'd anticipated. In fact, by the time she dragged her watch in front of her eyes, she realized arraignments had already been underway for nearly an hour. She raced to the courthouse, munching through the rest of the crackers and wishing for something more substantial. She didn't have the time to waste to grab something. She wanted to be there for his arraignment, although she wasn't sure why. There wasn't much point in it and she would be able to get any important information from a hundred other sources if she missed it. But there was some part of her that was determined to be there, to endure it, to sit through every minute of his trial, so that she could say she'd acted as his partner every single moment, right up until the verdict was handed down. The verdict, which she already knew would be guilty, would serve to sever the last tie. It would be the official end of his career, since he was technically only suspended pending the outcome. It would also be the official end of their partnership, a jury's announcement seeming somehow more formal and final than her own assessment that they were no longer partners.

When she pushed through the heavy doors, he'd already been called. The lawyers were in the midst of a battle, too busy to hear the noise of a person quietly slipping into the last row. Elliot wasn't though, and while his face looked haggard and far older than it had only a few hours before, he was glad to see her.

She turned away, figuring he was buying his own press about her not being safe without him. Her ears picked up the discussion being heard by Judge Petrovsky, one that sounded so familiar, so much like so many others while at the same time sounding so very different.

Carlisle was speaking, her hair pinned up perfectly, her blue suit replaced by an equally expensive black one. "Request ROR, your honor."

Greyleck practically laughed, her arms swinging out in a sweeping gesture. "Your honor, the defendant attacked his partner of eleven years. If she's not safe around him, no one is! The people request remand, for everyone's sake. We can't let dangerous criminals out to roam the street!"

Petrovsky wasn't a fan of antics and offered Greyleck a stiff frown. "This is a courtroom, Ms. Greyleck, not a soap box."

Carlisle, for all of her attitude the previous evening, was standing perfectly still, her hands clasped in front of her. "Your honor, Detective Stabler is a decorated police officer, accused unjustly. He has five children, one of whom is barely a year old. He needs to be available to care for them. He's not a flight risk."

Petrovsky wasn't a fan of Carlisle either, apparently, or perhaps she was simply having a bad day. Either way, she fixed the lawyer with a stern glare. "I assume these children have a mother capable of caring for them?"

Greyleck jumped back in. "A mother the defendant is in the process of divorcing. She's hardly a reason for him to stay for trial."

Carlisle wasn't about to be thwarted, changing tactics without missing a beat. "My client needs to be able to assist in his own defense, something he cannot do behind bars. Detective Stabler expects to be vindicated at his trial. He has no reason to run."

Greyleck scowled. "The defendant won't have a trial if he's free to harass his victim into silence."

Petrovsky held up her hand, indicating that she wasn't interested in hearing the two women go back and forth all day. "The defendant will surrender his passport to the court."

"Your honor, the defendant has multiple personal firearms." Greyleck was doing a good job of scaring the shit out of Olivia, already having her half convinced that Elliot was going to come after her, guns blazing.

"The defendant will surrender his firearms to the court as well and is hereby released on his own recognizance." Petrovsky raised the gavel.

Again, Greyleck interrupted. "The people would like an order of protection. Detective Benson should not be subjected to further harassment."

"The defendant is ordered to stay five hundred feet from Detective Benson, her home, and workplace." With a glare, Petrovsky finally turned from the lawyers to stare at Elliot. "You will leave her alone or you will be confined for the duration of your trial, is that understood?"

But Elliot wasn't looking at her. Elliot was staring at Olivia.

She stood up to leave, having heard everything she needed to hear. He was going to be free until his trial. Free to torture her all he wanted; she'd yet to see an effective restraining order.

"Olivia, wait!" He sounded absolutely panicked.

The gavel swung down twice, three times. "Mr. Stabler," Petrovsky admonished, "you will stay away from Detective Benson. You are to have no contact with her, is that clear?"

Olivia was frozen, wondering what he was going to do, thinking he was possibly crazy enough to defy the judge right there in the courtroom.

Carlisle's leg moved to the left, kicking Elliot's ankle with the heel of her pump, dragging his attention back to the judge. Finally, he nodded, turning once again to stare as Olivia shoved through the doors.

Olivia returned to the precinct, unhappily pretending not to notice all the heads turned her way. After being processed and arraigned, Elliot's name and crime were all over the place. As his partner, she would have been subjected to the same number of stares, but as his victim, she knew they were more intense, more critical. Cops stuck together. And when one was accused of a crime, the general train of thought was "innocent until railroaded by a prosecutor." And though she too was a cop, with the same blue blood, she was the accuser, and therefore not a member of the crew any longer. Determined to ignore them, she ducked into the captain's office for a break.

He nodded at her. "Greyleck told me he's out."

Olivia nodded. "Not really much of a surprise. He's not exactly a career criminal."

Cragen's eyes moved over a pile of papers on his desk. "IAB's probably going to want to interview you at some point. They were all over me before the sun came up."

"I'll be here." There was no point in dodging them. She didn't have anywhere else to go anyway.

Cragen winced and looked back at her. "About that."

"Please don't send me home, cap." Her eyes pleaded with him for several seconds after her words stopped. "I can't sit there and stare at the walls. I'll go insane."

"IAB's already up my ass. I can't have you out in the field, Olivia." Even as he argued, he sighed and waved his hands in the air. "You're riding a desk for a week, then we'll talk."

Olivia nodded, knowing better than to push it. It was instinct to claim that she was perfectly fine, but she knew she had no business working like she normally did. Hell, half of her was still waiting to wake up from the nightmare. She stood up and headed for her desk, pausing at the door to look back at her boss. "Thanks. Really." Without Elliot in the picture, he was the next closest person in the world to her. Trying to push the disturbing concept from her mind, she sat down and started shuffling some papers.

By the end of the day, Olivia was actually ready to get out of the precinct. Not necessarily to go home, but definitely in the mood for a change of scenery. She bade good night to the few people who weren't whispering behind her back and snuck out the back door of the station, in an effort to avoid everyone. The detail Cragen had informed her of at lunchtime caught up with her a block later. Any other time she'd been tailed, even if it had been for her own protection, she hadn't liked it one bit. But she was so tense, so convinced, thanks to Greyleck, that Elliot was going to show up at any moment and attack her, that she didn't mind so much. And she knew, due to the fuzzy, disjointed way everything felt that she didn't stand much of a chance of defending herself.

When she reached the front steps of her building, she saw the outline of a person waiting at the door. Her heart started to pound, regardless of the fact that a couple hundred people shared that stoop and that the form was half the size of Elliot. She had her hand on her gun, ready to pull it anyway.

The woman turned, coming down the steps to meet her. "Olivia, can I talk to you?"

She backed up a step, seeing the detail out of the corner of her eye, knowing one of them was climbing out of the car. Her eyes turned to Kathy and she shook her head. "This is a very bad idea."

Kathy took another step toward her. "Please, Olivia?"

She gestured that all was well to the man who was already halfway between her and his car. "What, Kathy?"

Her face screwed up, telegraphing her words before they left her mouth. "He wouldn't hurt you. You know he couldn't do this. You know Elliot, probably better than I do."

"I thought I knew him, but apparently not." She looked away, refusing to see Kathy's desperation.

The blonde moved, trying to catch Olivia's eye. "He's scared."

"He should be. He's going to prison." She glanced at Kathy, wishing she didn't feel so damn guilty. "And if you help him violate a restraining order, you might be joining him."

Her eyes widened for a moment. "Olivia, please. Listen to me. He's really afraid for you. You're in danger."

"Stop!" She held up her hands, trying to step around Kathy. "That's a threat, Kathy, and if you're passing it on from Elliot, I will have those two in that car drag your ass off." She had no desire to throw Kathy in jail; she didn't think the petite woman would survive there for ten seconds. But she didn't want to have Elliot's wife issuing second-hand threats on her front steps for the rest of time.

"It wasn't him, Olivia. He swore on the lives of our children that it wasn't him. I believe him."

Olivia stopped on the second step, turning back to the woman who truly didn't seem to understand that she didn't know who Elliot really was either. "Kathy, I found his wedding ring in my bed, in my sheets. How the hell do you think it got there? Because I sure as hell can't explain it any other way!"

Kathy's eyes lowered as she shrugged. "I don't know. He told me he wasn't wearing it. I already told you he left me for another woman, Olivia, why would he still be wearing his wedding ring?"

Olivia motioned at Kathy's left hand, at the shining gold band around her third finger. "You're still wearing yours."

Kathy's shoulders drooped, her chin trembling. "I still love him."

With tears in her eyes, Olivia turned away, unable to admit, or acknowledge, that she suspected she had the same problem.

"Olivia, please!"

At the top step, she pulled open the door, stopping to glance down at Kathy. "I'm sorry this happened, but there's nothing I can do to stop it. I didn't start it. I didn't ask for it."

"He's not threatening you, Olivia, and I won't bother you again, but please, please, just be careful. He just wants you to be safe and if I didn't believe that I wouldn't have come here." Kathy was clinging to the wrought iron handrail, squeezing it until her hands were white.

"Don't come back here, Kathy." She met the Kathy's stare, unblinking, until the other woman finally walked away. Shivering from more than just the ice cold air, Olivia hurried up into the building.


	13. Chapter 12

Part Twelve

In an attempt to put Kathy's plea, and Elliot's threat, out of her head, Olivia turned to her regular stress relief. Not only was the place a mess from the attack, which she refused to think about, but she also had the slightly obsessive desire to wash down every surface that the crime scene techs might have touched. Those techs went in and touched some rather filthy places, she knew, so she told herself there was nothing wrong with deciding her entire apartment was in serious need of antibacterial cleanser. Focusing on that allowed her to clean up the mess Elliot had made tearing after her without having to deal with the fact that it had been Elliot or that she'd been attacked.

She straightened what needed straightened, mopped the floors, scrubbed the bathroom and kitchen, sprayed every surface with Lysol, found the few dust bunnies that had dared to gather in such a short amount of time and chased them out. With a slightly paranoid way about her, she took her sheets, blankets and pillows to the laundry room, making sure to triple check that her apartment was locked up tight when she left and carrying her gun with her to stare at the machines while she washed them in hot water with bleach twice. She moved the oddly striped and spotted mass of ruined bedding to the dryers, not even caring that she was just going to have to replace it all anyway. Hell, she was already considering getting herself a new mattress and possibly even moving, just so Elliot wouldn't even know where to find her when he got out of prison.

After the bed was remade, half-bleached bed clothes and all, she picked up the broken lamp in the living room and the torn shade from the bedroom, triple checked her locked door again, and then shoved the items that she couldn't wash down the trash shoot.

And then the idea occurred to her.

Elliot had been so damn excited about the possibility of the DNA on her thong clearing him. It had been two days since she'd tossed them, but judging from the smell emanating from the closet which housed the trash shoot, the dumpster had not been emptied yet.

She went back to her apartment for plastic gloves and a flashlight before descending the steps to the basement. The place was dark and smelly and open to all residents, so she wasn't sure what sort of hideous things she might discover if she were to look. She just refused to look and promised herself a steaming hot shower as a reward for traipsing down there into what might as well have been the great beyond. Surprisingly, the beam of her flashlight revealed, dumpster aside, the floor was clean, except for some rather thick piles of dust.

As she suspected, just inside the automatic door, only operated by the super and the garbage men, was a nearly overflowing dumpster from which was coming one of the most awful smells she'd ever experienced. Olivia kicked at it several times on each side, giving fair warning to any rats that might have been scavenging that she was armed and about to invade. Having had the unfortunate opportunity twice in her career, she remembered to push aside the shoot so she would not have new garbage rain down on her head. Then she pulled herself up over the side, perched herself on the lip and started throwing aside all the bags of trash.

She hadn't bothered to bag the thong when she tossed it, so she hoped that would make it easier to find. Most of the space was filled with bags, a good majority of them leaking substances she was fairly sure were radioactive, or at least smelled like something that should be marked bio-hazard. But when she'd finished removing all the bags, praying the super didn't have cameras down there that would identify her as the culprit since she had no intention of putting them back, there was still a fairly large amount of loose crap.

Afraid of the rats and whatever creatures that might thrive in bio-hazardous, radioactive waste, she kept one hand on the edge of the dumpster, both feet well away from the soup that had accumulated under all the garbage, and used a discarded broom handle to fish for solid objects. It took several hours of fishing alone, even after she tossed aside the broom and tried instead using a plastic bowl. One bowlful at a time, she examined and then poured out the murky liquid. She knew the super, or the Department of Health, was going to be pissed about the mess she was making, but as she slowly, but steadily emptied the remaining contents of the dumpster, one thing became so painfully clear that she didn't really care who got mad about what.

The thong, the one Elliot had sworn would clear him, wasn't there.

Sitting on the edge of the empty dumpster, staring at the pile of dripping bags and the river of slop oozing under the door, Olivia was at a total fucking loss. Her olfactory sense had mercifully abandoned her a long time earlier; her sense of being covered in filth also disappeared. Her brain was busy, wrapped around the mystery. Wondering who, even in their fucked up stalking mind would have sifted through that gross pile, and puddle, of shit to steal back the panties after she threw them in there.

It was an altogether different level of depravity, she thought, than just jerking off with them in the first place.

To steal them back, Elliot would have had to do the same thing she had, since he'd been at the precinct or in custody since that morning. Which, as she'd had no qualms doing, would have left a sizable mess all over the place. Even if he'd taken the time to put the bags back in the dumpster, which she had no intention whatsoever of doing, there would have been evidence of them having been moved in the first place, since most of them were covered in the foul glop that lived in the dumpster. And there was none. Aside from the dust, the floor was pristine.

She was baffled. Really and truly puzzled, perhaps, she decided from not having slept or possibly from having breathed in vapors of all sorts of things that weren't meant for human consumption. The only way he could have stolen those panties back without leaving a sticky, smelly dead giveaway behind him would have been to snag them right after she'd thrown them away, when they would have been near the top of the pile of trash.

And she knew Elliot had been at the precinct then, talking to IAB.

As she climbed down from her perch, she tried to make sense of it. Elliot could have had an accomplice, like the man who'd bought the damn flowers. Or maybe he'd spent the day, in violation of his restraining order, going through the dumpster and cleaning up after himself, magically removing any trace of having made the mess Olivia had. But she really couldn't picture that since the man was actually more averse to ghastly odors than she was.

Maybe Elliot was a fucking criminal mastermind, stealing back the thong after he'd planted the idea in her mind that it would clear his name, knowing that she'd have trouble understanding why he would steal something that would exonerate him.

Or maybe he was telling the truth.

Shuddering, she practically ran for her apartment, taking the steps two at a time, terrified of the poor woman she met on her floor. The woman gagged as she passed, and it took Olivia several minutes to realize it was the new perfume she was sporting, eau de dumpster.

She was in a full-on paranoid fit when she entered her apartment, fear causing her to draw her weapon and check every room twice. She threw open every closet, even got down to check under her bed, in case the monster who'd lived under there when she was three had come back.

Finally, the fact that she was stinking up her apartment, the one she'd just cleaned again, got to her. Scared to leave the door unattended, she pushed a table in front of it. Still unconvinced, she shoved the couch in front of it too. Praying it wasn't the night a fire would start, she felt secure enough to take a shower. She left her filthy clothes waded up in the bottom of the tub because she didn't feel like dealing with the laundry room again. And the sofa blocking the door was a bit of a deterrent as well.

She put on her pajamas and walked into her bedroom, staring at the bed. She'd washed everything. She'd made sure her apartment was secure. And she reminded herself that rapist tendencies aside, Elliot wasn't particularly dirty. But she still couldn't bring herself to lie down. Instead she grabbed the newly striped blue blanket and dragged it to the couch, telling herself that the persistent stench of bleach was better than any traces of Elliot's cologne despite her body's preference for the latter. Luckily, she fell asleep quickly.

The nightmares were to be expected, she figured, but it didn't make them any less horrible. It would start out like that night, with a dark, heavy figure on top of her. She'd pull off the mask the way she hadn't been able to when it had happened. Sometimes it would be Elliot, angry and upset, using his strong arms to hit her and shred her clothes and force himself on her. Sometimes it would be another mask, a series of covered faces, or even an inhuman black hole with bright blue eyes, eyes that were always Elliot's. And sometimes, the ones that woke her screaming louder than she had that night, there was some hideous creature atop her, beating her, raping her, with Elliot's face watching from the foot of the bed, laughing at her terror.

Shaking in fear, she abandoned the idea of sleep. She could barely see the television from her position on the recently relocated couch, but she didn't care. The drone of the voices made her feel safer, the happy faces weren't necessary. She sat there with droopy eyes, letting the pair of excited women try to sell her some sort of automatic crafting device that would make her scrapbook come alive. She drifted in and out of sleep for the next few hours, never getting deep enough under to actually be troubled by the notion of a living scrapbook.

Mercifully, morning did eventually come. The sun seemed to be taking its damn time coming, time she spent by putting her rearranged furniture back in its proper place. She normally would have had no problem heading off to work before dawn. In fact, half the time she went out to work in the middle of the night. She wasn't afraid of the dark.

She was afraid of the rapists who lurked in the dark. Particularly the ones stalking her.

The day was one of the longest she'd ever put in. Not only was she stuck at her desk, pushing paper and pretending that it didn't make her feel useless and impotent, but people kept asking her how she was feeling, like she'd had the flu or something. Munch's attention, even Fin's, didn't bother her too much. She got the impression that they were just trying to get through an extremely awkward period, unable to make the usual kind of small talk, unsure if they should bring up any cases due to what had happened to her. Cragen did bug her, mostly because she couldn't tell him to fuck off the way she had the eight millionth time Munch had asked if she was doing ok.

She wasn't doing ok. She seesawed between being convinced that Elliot was being punished unfairly and knowing that he was hell bent on driving her completely out of her mind. She felt sick when Carlisle showed up, popping into Cragen's office to request his keys, all but the copy of Olivia's, and to demand the location of his car. Olivia explained that it was right where she'd left it, outside her building, uneasy about the idea of knowing Elliot was going to be there even if she wasn't. But then Carlisle, who seemed to read her mind, assured everyone, loudly, that her client would not be violating the restraining order, that she herself would be retrieving his car for him. As the redhead walked away, Olivia figured she'd take one look at the ancient piece of shit Elliot called a car and feel about it the same way Olivia had felt about climbing in the dumpster.

Fin offered to pick up her lunch when he was heading out for his own, something he did on occasion, so she didn't feel too bad accepting the favor. But then Munch and Cragen both did the same. And then Greyleck appeared, having tried and failed to endear herself to the unit more than once, and suddenly asked if Olivia wanted to grab a bite to eat. Olivia pondered asking if the woman knew she had to unclench her jaw in order to put food in her mouth, but she didn't really feel like alienating another person.

It was a little before five when she stood up to leave. It was early for her, but she'd caught up on everything she could find to do. The sun was down and snow had been falling since noon, certain to make the trip home long and cold and upsetting for someone who was afraid of her own shadow. Munch came up behind her to offer her a lift home, laying his hand on her shoulder unexpectedly and sending Olivia three feet away in surprise. With a racing heart, she shook her head, desperate to be alone. Munch hadn't gotten to the door before Fin appeared, asking if she wanted him to walk her home. With a growl, she said no, getting a whole five feet before Cragen emerged from his office to see if she was looking for a ride home.

She stomped away, not even giving him an answer. As she pushed through the front door, grouchily stepping onto the snow covered street, Greyleck was there. Olivia couldn't figure out what was so odd about her until she realized that she was actually smiling. Thoroughly disturbed, Olivia tried to push by her.

Greyleck grabbed her arm, causing Olivia to jerk away and nearly lose her footing on the slick street. "Hey, I didn't mean to startle you. I was just going to see if you needed a ride home."

"No!" She hadn't meant to shout, but the frustration made it unavoidable. And just because she saw her lovely personal protective detail rolling down the windows, she kept shouting. "I don't need a fucking ride home from anyone! Everyone leave me the fuck alone!"

With her regular expressionless stare back in place, Greyleck shook her head. "Geez, fine, whatever." Olivia watched her walk away, back to a warm car, and seriously wished she'd taken someone up on the offer.

Shivering, she started home, alone except for the entire population of Manhattan plus two cops watching over her. The truth was she just wanted to be alone. Elliot was the only person she'd ever really trusted in her life, a character assessment that had only just blown up in her face. If she couldn't trust him, someone she'd trusted so completely for so long, she wasn't going to bother with anyone else. She'd rely on herself. She'd watch out for herself. She'd survive without him. And, as the snow started to come down harder, she told herself she'd stop missing him. It was too soon to miss his presence at her side, his intoxicating cologne, his warm smiles, his rare teasing. Besides, she reminded herself, he'd been the one to betray her, to destroy all that she'd thought their friendship meant.

She knew she shouldn't feel so guilty for wanting to hate him.

She knew she shouldn't think it was so impossible to hate him.

But she knew it was. She shook her head at her own ridiculous thoughts, pulled her coat tighter to stave off the wind driven snow, and realized she needed help. Real fucking help. She was never going to get through the attack by her most trusted friend alone.

Olivia pushed the call button for the elevator repeatedly. The distraction of smacking the button over and over helped keep her from the nervous desire she had to peer over her shoulder. Despite knowing who it had been that night, despite rationalizing that Elliot simply wasn't stupid enough to come after her again, her body responded like any other victim. Whenever she was alone, and most of the time when she wasn't, she prepared physically for an assault. Her senses were on alert, hyperaware of any noises around her, ready for another attack. She was terrified and she hated it. And she hated that it was Elliot who'd done that to her. Still, she refused to give into the terror he'd instilled in her, refused to alter her life in any way besides obviously not working with him anymore and sleeping on the couch in the middle of the living room and being afraid to be outside in the dark.

But she couldn't hate him. She just couldn't. She didn't know what the hell was wrong with her. The man had broken into her apartment, snuck into her bedroom, and climbed on top of her. He'd held her down, staring at her coldly while she fought and screamed and tried to get away from him. He'd chased her when she ran, striking her, scaring her, hurting her. And then, even after he'd seen all the evidence against him, proof of what he'd done, he still refused to give anyone, especially her, the satisfaction of admitting it. He wouldn't explain himself, his reasons, and she needed that to understand it, to get over it. She imagined the therapy process to fix everything that he'd broken in her would take the rest of her life. She didn't think she would ever really be ok again. Because even if she did eventually stop looking over her shoulder, she knew she would never trust anyone. Never. What was the point?

The elevator doors opened finally, but at the same time a car backfired outside, sending Olivia jumping and ducking inside, a terrified shout ripping from her throat. As the doors slid closed, her cheeks burned in embarrassment even though there was no one around to witness it. Cragen had been remarkably kind to her by not insisting that she take time off, but she knew she needed to get some kind of hold on herself if she wasn't going to let him down. With a resigned sigh, she stepped out onto her floor and promised herself she was going to call a doctor. Someone. She wasn't fooling anyone that she was ok, not even herself.

Her mind was on the fact that she was ready to sign up for counseling without being forced into it, such a deviation from normal for her. Perhaps she was more preoccupied by the fact that it had been her partner who'd caused the change, which only brought her back to the whole damn thing again. It was a vicious cycle that she was actually willing to talk about provided talking about it would break it.

Admittedly, her newly-developed paranoia about her surroundings was on the back burner as she turned her key in the lock. She was tired; even a short day had taken more out of her than the traditionally long days ever had. Tossing her bag on the floor, she stepped inside and felt along the wall in the dark for the light switch.

And then he was on her again, so fast she couldn't scream.


	14. Chapter 13

Part Thirteen

Hell, she could barely breathe with the way he'd clamped his hand over her mouth. She tried to fight, but he'd obviously planned the attack better than the first. He was behind her, his muscled arms locked tightly around her, making it impossible for her to move. One arm held her hips firmly against him; the other hand was latched across her mouth, forcing her head back, positioning his lips against her ear as he spoke words she was too upset to understand.

She whimpered, scared beyond fighting. He'd come back. After all that shit of him swearing he hadn't done it, looking her in the eye with tears, actual tears, running down his face, pleading with her, begging her to believe him. She'd known better, but it still seemed unbelievable. She'd nearly believed him after she couldn't find the thong. He'd been arraigned, ordered to stay away from her until his trial, and he certainly knew that violating the TRO would undoubtedly land him in jail for the duration of his trial, a trial which, after a second attack, would end with his guilt being proclaimed. But there was no fucking question anymore. No way for him to maintain his innocence. Not as long as she was alive. A thought that terrified her out of her mind because he could so easily change that.

She struggled, as well as she could while she was crying and fighting for enough air to fill her lungs. He wasn't stopping her from breathing, just from screaming, but the hysteria made her choke. A detached part of her mind wondered how his hand could remain so tight even with her tears soaking his skin.

A moment or an eternity later, she was pressed into the wall, pinning her legs which she hadn't realized were flailing. His hand didn't move from her mouth, even as he turned her face sideways to avoid smashing it into the wall. His body was pressed against hers and she waited to feel it, the way she had the first time, the unmistakable reaction of his body that foretold the horror of what he wanted, what he was willing to steal from her. She was too frightened to be shocked that he didn't react to the contact of her body writhing against his.

His mouth was at her ear again, whispering words that didn't calm her. "Stop it! God damn it, Olivia, stop fighting me!"

Her only thought was that she had to get away. She'd done it once; she needed to do it again. She wanted to scream, to draw attention to her situation. Her neighbors had noticed his presence the first time. She hoped they'd be kind enough to call the police when they heard her shrieking in fear again.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Liv." His voice, his strained whisper, so soft, so intimate at her ear, his lips brushing her skin, sent an inexplicable surge of heat through her and she cursed her treacherous body for responding to him. She wanted to close her eyes and forget. Forget that she felt anything for him. Forget that she'd ever craved his touch. Forget that he'd hurt her. Forget that he was hurting her all over again. Forget everything and slip away into a quiet, calm world where she was safe.

She tried to focus, to keep herself in the present, to look for an escape. She fought to keep her eyes open and not panic. He was talking to her, something he hadn't done the first time. A flicker of hope told her that perhaps he was afraid she'd get away again, that maybe he didn't want to overpower her after all.

The flicker was snuffed out by the inimitable pressure as his dick finally started to respond to her wiggling.

"Damn it, stop, Olivia! Stop moving!"

She felt his hand pushing against the small of her back, the full weight of him pressing into her as the warmth from his hips moved away. She tried to understand, to figure out why he was trying to make her be still, to determine why he was trying to hide his arousal. He'd wanted her to feel it the first time. He'd made sure she felt it. He'd moaned in pleasure as she'd struggled under him.

Even as his body stayed away from her, even as he still managed to keep her restrained with only the contact of his hands, his breath fell against her skin again. "Please, please, don't be scared of me." The contact of his forehead resting against the side of her face was unexpected enough to still her for a moment. "I won't hurt you, Liv. I promise you."

An idea came to her, giving her the only opportunity she figured she would get. He wanted her to give in. He wanted her to consent. She thought if she pretended to do so, he might let his guard down long enough for her to run. She forced her body to relax, unable to do anything about the adrenaline-induced tremors. She hoped he would fall for it. She hoped she could control herself. She hoped she could stay alive.

"That's better. It's just me. You don't have to be afraid." The hand on her back let up slowly, testing to see if she was going to run. She felt it leave her entirely and managed to keep herself still. He was still too close, still too tense for her to blow her chance. She couldn't make a run for it until he was further away.

He flipped the switch on the opposite wall, blinding her with the light. He was staring at her, watching her with his one hand still firmly pressed over her mouth. "Are you going to scream if I let go?"

She shook her head, unable to look at him. She knew her fear, her revulsion, her pain would be obvious to him. He was, or at least had been, her partner.

He leaned in, his face filling her sight. "Look at me." When she forced her eyes to his, his face was a mask, showing no emotion at all. "Are you going to scream if I let go?"

Screaming was out; that much was clear. If she lied, he'd know it and he'd know she was faking the smidgen of trust she'd shown him. She'd be back at square one. Taking a deep breath, she quickly dismissed the idea of screaming in favor of a new plan. She had to get him away from the door. As long as he was between her and the door, she wouldn't be going anywhere. She finally shook her head, honestly indicating that she would not scream. Not for the moment, at least.

He nodded, hesitation obvious as he searched her eyes. Finally, the tight grip on her mouth released, allowing her to draw in a full breath. It would have been the perfect chance to scream her lungs out, but as she watched, he drew her gun from her bag on the floor, knowing exactly where it was stashed. No point in screaming if she'd wind up dead.

He nodded toward the hallway. "Bedroom."

Oh, _god,_ she was going to be sick right there. He wanted to fuck her on her own bed. Like they were making love. Like she wasn't being held at gunpoint.

"Now."

She swallowed back a sob, sniffling and wiping tears from her eyes, trying to keep herself collected enough to think. She had to think of something. Maybe she could ask him to use a condom, ask him to get one from the bathroom. She could make a run for it then. Or, if he forced her to get it, there were plenty of things in there that she could use as a weapon.

He kept the gun on her as he prodded her to the center of the room. Stepping back, feeling his way against the wall in the dark. "Where's the light?"

She sniffled, thinking she preferred the dark, scared that he was going to make her strip for him or something equally repulsive.

He found it without her help, flicking it on. He winced, anger showing on his face. "Jesus, Olivia, I said I wasn't going to hurt you."

Her eyes flickered to the gun instead of responding.

He shrugged. "I have to keep you from running somehow." His eyes left her for a moment, far too short a period for her to go anywhere. He pushed the closet door open, his hand reaching into it blindly. Annoyed, he glanced inside it, finding what he was looking for, grabbing a backpack from the shelf and throwing it on her bed. "Pick it up."

It beat a strip tease, so she did as she was told.

He used the gun to point at the dresser. "Pack some clothes."

"Why?" She didn't figure she needed clothing for what he planned to do with her.

"Because we're going on a little trip."

She was shaking as she stepped up to her dresser. Pulling open a couple drawers, she stuffed things in the bag without paying any attention to what they were. Her eyes were on her perfume bottles, sitting there in front of her mirror, wondering if they would pack enough of a punch to blind him long enough for her to get away. She remembered how she'd tried to protect him when he'd lost his sight, how she'd cradled him in her arms when Picard had thrust his head through the car window. It made her sick to her stomach. She'd cared about him. Really fucking cared. More than she'd ever cared about anyone. And he repaid her by trying to fucking rape her and jerking off in her panties. Fucker.

God _fucking_ help him if she got that gun from him.

"Don't get any brilliant ideas, Liv. That's just going to piss me off." He caught her eye in the mirror, a smirk she would have called sexy days earlier crossing his lips. "And it won't deter me from protecting you, Olivia. No matter how fucking irritating you're being acting all scared of me and shit." He laughed for a moment, only serving to freak her out more. "I'm going to keep you safe if it's the last thing I do, just so I can tell you 'I told you so.'"

With the bag mostly full of random pieces of clothing she couldn't be sure even made one whole outfit. She turned around to face him. "What now?" She was scared and shaking, but the tears were drying on her face. Terror or no, she'd never been one for crying.

"Where are your gloves and boots?" He nodded at the leather jacket she was wearing. "And your fucking winter coat. There's a damn blizzard going on outside and you're dressed for fucking July."

She'd noticed the snow, but only because it was cold. She had forgotten about the winter storm. Her eyes locked on his. "Since you tried to rape me I haven't really been paying attention to the weather."

Still holding the gun on her, he reached out, his hand cupping her cheek. "It wasn't me, Olivia."

His hand was warm and soft and some part of her wanted to feel his caress. But she couldn't deny the facts, especially not the one that was her own weapon pointed squarely at her chest. With a shudder, she pulled away, turning her face to the side, feeling fresh tears spill down her face.

He growled, grabbing her shoulder and pushing her toward the doorway. "For the love of god, Olivia, how many times do I have to tell you I have no interest in causing you physical harm?" He pushed her back to the living room and then he inclined his head toward the couch. "Sit down for a minute."

It was the last thing she wanted to do. Sitting down was a weaker position, costing her more time if she tried to run, making it that much easier to overpower her simply by letting gravity work for him. But Elliot wasn't the most rational man on a good day and no one holding a gun liked arguments, so she did as she was told and sat on the edge of the couch, hoping not to piss him off any more than she already had by being scared.

She'd negotiated with crazy people. She'd negotiated with suicidal people. She'd negotiated guns off of her plenty of times. But she'd never faced her partner with her own weapon pointed at her. And she didn't expect the perfectly calm expression on his face because she'd never seen him get over anger so quickly. Her voice was shaky as she spoke, but she forced herself to say something, hoping that by talking she would delay what she assumed was likely inevitable – rape and, likely, death. Perhaps it would give her a chance to get away.

"What do you want?"

He looked at her, glared at her from his perch on the coffee table before her. "I told you already. I want to keep you safe and you've made that exceedingly difficult, Liv."

Her eyes darted down. She couldn't look at him. She couldn't deal with him. She still wanted to believe him, even though he was right there, without a ski mask this time, holding a gun on her.

Fuck, he still sounded like her partner.

Fuck, she still believed her partner.

"A restraining order? Did you really think that was necessary?" His voice was disbelieving.

She couldn't help but look at him, annoyance flashing in her eyes and voice. "I didn't know Greyleck was going to do that." She shook her head, wondering why she was even discussing it with someone who'd recently proven himself to be nuts. "Not like it made a difference."

"Sure it did. I had to sneak up the fire escape to avoid the detail out front." He sounded every bit as annoyed, as though she was going to care that he was inconvenienced. "And it's a bitch in the snow, but you'll find that out soon enough."

She glanced at him, remembering that no matter how he sounded, he was still a criminal, bent on hurting her and he was apparently holding her hostage, while the brilliant protective detail ordered by Cragen sat outside thinking she was tucked safe in her bed for the night. "What do you want from me?"

He snorted derisively at her, shaking her head like she was the one letting him down. "I want you to agree to pay the bills for the psychiatrist I'm going to wind up seeing because my partner doesn't trust me." He reached next to her, grabbing the roll of duct tape he must have brought with him, and tossed it in her lap. "Tear a piece off."

Her heart sank as she realized she hadn't fooled him by pretending to do as he wanted. The shaky quality returned to her voice. "Elliot, you don't have to do this." She blinked at the tears, but it did nothing to stop them.

There was a brief glimpse of something she wanted to label anguish as he watched her start to cry yet again, but it disappeared quickly. "Yes, I do." He pointed at the tape with her gun. "Tear off a piece."

She couldn't believe he was going to restrain her with tape. She somehow thought she would have been able to accept it if he'd simply outmaneuvered her and forced himself on her. And being tied up like that would only make her plan to escape harder. But it wasn't like she had a lot of options. She picked at the rough edge and pulled until she'd uncoiled a few inches.

"That's plenty."

While Olivia was sure no one thought their rapist made particularly logical choices, she still expected something different. As she sat there, working her nail through the thick tape to rip it free, Elliot moved forward. He shifted the gun to his right hand, holding it steady while his left reached for her hip. She cried out in shock, in anger, as his hand slid against her jeans, forgetting that she had promised not to scream, forgetting anything but the fact that he was actually going to rape her.

He shook his head as his hand felt along one hip and the top of that thigh before moving to the other side and doing the same. His face was only a few inches from hers and she couldn't ignore the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "See? That's why I need the tape. Cause you said you wouldn't scream and apparently, you're the one who can't be trusted."

She choked back another sound when his hand shifted behind her, cupping her ass. And she couldn't avoid his eyes when his face lit up in a smile. She thought she might actually throw up right then and there.

"You're so predictable, you know that, Liv?" He withdrew his hand, holding up a small tube, presenting her with her own lip balm, the one he'd just found in her pocket.

She wasn't sure what to think when he popped open the top and so sat stupidly motionless while he smeared an ample amount of the wax across her lips. She didn't even want to think about what he expected she'd need that sort of lubrication for. And before she could think about much else, he'd grabbed the tape from her hands, securing it across her mouth.

"It'll keep the tape from tearing your skin." He shrugged at her as he slipped the lip balm into his own pocket. "I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't listen. I'm going to protect you and I need to get you away from here to do that. I know you're not about to let me cart you out of here without screaming your head off. I'm out of options here, Liv, and hopefully you'll realize that someday." He reached around his back, producing handcuffs. "And I don't expect you're going to come with me without a fight, so I'm taking matters into my own hands."

She tried to keep her breathing under control, to keep the tears at bay, anything to keep her nose from getting stuffed up because then she wouldn't be able to breathe. But even without being able to speak, she had always been able to communicate with Elliot.

He looked down, with possibly some sort of remorse or guilt torturing his features. "Don't look at me like that. This is for your own good, Liv. You have to trust me." He stared at her, holding her eyes for a long time. "Or you'll be as messed up from this as I will be."

Unable to answer and unsure of what he was telling her, she didn't put up a fight when he yanked her to her feet. She let him pull her arms behind her, binding them with cuffs just tight enough that she wouldn't be able to get free.

"You didn't really think I was falling for your sudden change of heart about trying to fight me off when you came in, did you?" With a wink that made her shiver, he pushed her back onto the couch.

She was disappointed in herself for realizing he'd been playing her the whole time. He never would have been able to grab her gun and cuff her and gag her while she was fighting him. He'd expected her to do exactly what she did, knowing he'd be able to trick her into an even weaker position. And she still couldn't blame him. Because just as she'd refused the offers from everyone to make sure she got home safely, she'd brought it upon herself. She deserved what she got.

He left her on the couch for a moment, keeping the gun steady on her as he opened the closet by the door, easily finding the winter gear she kept there. He grabbed her boots and threw them by her feet before pulling her coat, hat and gloves out as well. Then he sat beside her, glaring at her while he linked one arm through her cuffed ones.

"Don't pull any shit with me. I'm a Marine, remember? I can have you unconscious in seconds and if you tempt me, I will." He stared at her, waiting for a response.

With wide, frightened eyes, she nodded.

He leaned forward, their joined arms forcing her to do the same, so he could pull her dress boots off her feet and replace them with the other pair. He didn't bother to tie them, shrugging his shoulders and saying that he thought it might make it harder for her to run off on him. He took the time to put her hat and gloves on her and pulled the coat around her shoulders, zipping up the front. He even tucked the empty sleeves into the pockets so as to confuse anyone who might see her, despite the fact that the duct tape across her mouth might clear matters up.

Satisfied that she was ready for whatever he was planning, he pulled her to her feet. "Now, are you going to walk with me or do I have to carry you?"

She didn't want his slimy hands on any more of her than was absolutely necessary and so she walked without a struggle next to him as he rushed her toward the fire escape. His arms wrapped tightly around her, sandwiching her between himself and the icy ladder leading to the alley. She was terrified, as much by plunging five stories to her death as by him.

"Please don't do anything stupid right now, Liv, or we're both going to end up dead." His mouth was next to her ear, his hot breath washing over her neck.

She whimpered, honestly unsure if it was from fear or something else. He put his feet on the first rung, nudging her to do the same. But her boots were a little big, something that wasn't a problem when they were tied, and her foot slipped forward, threatening both of their balances.

He changed tactics then, backing off the ladder, turning her around to face him, and then reaching under her coat. His hand felt its way around to her back, leaving her shaking and tingling in its wake. And then his arm was between hers, pushing up her coat so that he could grab the ladder behind her and hold her against him. She was terrified, because of him, because of his actions, because of her reactions to him, because of her utter helplessness.

He read it in her eyes, reaching for her face with his other hand, brushing her hair back, touching his forehead to hers. "You don't have to be afraid of me, Liv."

With no other choice, she squeezed her eyes closed and placed her trust in her partner. Either he kept her alive or he didn't. She didn't know which would be worse. And there wasn't anything she could do about it anyway.


	15. Chapter 14

Part Fourteen

Her heart was in her throat the whole time she was suspended above the ground with only her treacherous partner between her and death. But somehow, mostly due to the raw strength in his massive muscles, he negotiated them safely down. As soon as her boots touched concrete she wanted to kneel down and kiss the ground. She didn't get the chance as Elliot's gentle hold switched back to bastard mode, his hand grabbing a tight hold of her upper arm through her coat and shoving her forward.

The snow was coming down heavily and, in the short lifetime since she'd walked home, several more inches had fallen. Even with Elliot's grip on her and her snow boots she could barely keep her feet under her. But there was evidence of relatively recent movement, two lines in the snow that weren't as deep as the rest, tire tracks that she visually followed, seeing an old conversion van waiting for them. Her fear ratcheted up a notch, remembering the old adage for safety about never letting someone take you to another location.

A scratched and dinged black van from the seventies, complete with tinted bubble windows in the back, was an entirely different story from walking in New York City. It was exactly the sort of reason mothers held their daughters' hands and warned them not to get too close to strangers in cars. It was exactly the sort of location Olivia would have expected to be called to, discovered abandoned in an alley just like that one, with the rotting remains of a raped and mutilated woman inside. It was exactly the sort of place a deranged former cop might take his partner to rape her.

She started to struggle, more from an instinct to live than from any conscious choice. There were few windows on the back side of the building, no foot traffic on the street due to the snow, and likely no one within hearing range of whatever kind of scream she could force out past her duct tape gag. But she fought anyway, locking her knees and leaning back, refusing to be walked forward. She twisted and pushed, figuring she'd be able to lose his grip because of the thick parka between them. When she succeeded in freeing herself from his hand, she ran. At least, she tried to. But her boots weren't tied and the snow was already almost a foot deep.

The first step she took on her own brought her foot right out of the boot. But she didn't let it stop her. Fuck frostbite. She wasn't getting raped if she could do a damn thing about it. She lost the other boot with her second step. And lost her footing with the third.

She went down hard, flat on her chest, her face winding up in the snow, her chin slamming into the pavement. With her hands cuffed behind her, she'd had no way to stop herself. Getting up was a bitch too between her icy cold feet and her pinned arms and her stunned head from the fall.

But it became much easier when Elliot appeared beside her, reaching down with both arms, lifting her right off the ground and carrying her to the van. Her legs kicked and flailed. She moaned and whined and tried to scream.

He didn't even look at her as he pulled open the back doors of the van, shoving her inside in front of him and then yanking the doors closed behind them. She kept kicking, reminding herself that she had strong legs, telling herself that a couple hits to his head would have him out cold and then she could find a way free.

But instead of a continued struggle and her victory, there was a hand on her throat, and sudden, threatening darkness. Barely awake she wasn't able to kick any longer and her legs fell heavily to the floor. Remaining completely still, she discovered, allowed a tiny bit of air through to her lungs. Staring up at his cold eyes in terror, she wondered if he'd kill her instead. Maybe the intent hadn't been to rape her. Maybe that had just been amusement of some kind. Maybe he'd really wanted her dead the whole time.

With her compliance, he had no trouble at all climbing over her, straddling her, his thighs on either side of her hips, his weight holding her below him.

"I'm not playing with you, Olivia. You're not getting my ass carted off to jail just so some fucker can come hurt you." He leaned down, in case his message wasn't clear. "Don't try that again."

He unzipped her coat, pulling the top half of her body up into his arms. Instinct again told her to fight, but she couldn't. She could only wait, feeling his body so intimately close to hers, so warm and hard and strong, knowing he was using all those things she'd cherished in her partner against her. She expected to feel the cold air assault her at any moment, knowing her shirt would be ripped free of her body. His hands would move then, touching her, feeling her, killing her, physically or mentally. Didn't really matter. She wouldn't survive it either way.

Instead, there was simply a tight squeeze as he leaned over her shoulder, and then the freedom to move her arms. Only for a moment, as he repositioned them, with a disturbing gentleness, above her head, refastening them around something hard and cold and made of steel. He shifted again, reaching for the tape on her face, pausing to glare at her.

"I will not be happy if you scream, is that clear?"

She nodded. She hadn't promised not to scream. She'd only acknowledged that it would upset him. Fuck him if he thought she was going to give him any latitude.

He fished in his pocket, pulling out a small prescription bottle, shaking something free of it, and then putting the amber bottle back in his pocket. There was a pill pinched between two of his fingers as he pulled at the tape. Fuck him if he thought he was putting that in her mouth.

As soon as the tape was halfway off her mouth, she started to scream, knowing she had only seconds before he probably killed her. He winced, growling at her, taking advantage of her open mouth to shove the pill inside. Before she had the thought, or the chance, to spit it out, he'd slapped the tape back over her lips.

"You really are unfuckingreasonable sometimes, Liv." He was still sitting there, straddling her, watching as she tried and failed to somehow get the pill out of her mouth. "Just swallow the damn thing, it's not going to hurt you."

She had no intention of it, but she was laying flat on her back and the pill was already half disintegrated and she knew whatever it was would get in her bloodstream anyway. He just sat there, staring at her, spending time stretching her coat over her, dusting the snow off her face, pulling something soft out of the bag he'd made her pack, wadding it up under her head. Right. Because a blanket and pillow were exactly what she needed from him. She tried to glare through the tears, wondering why the fuck that had been the best friend she'd ever had couldn't show her some fucking mercy instead.

Despite the frantic fear still coursing though her, she felt her eyes start to slip shut. In between heavy-lidded blinks, she looked up at the blurring face of her partner, seeing a small smile cross his lips. She felt his hand next to her face, smoothing over her hair.

"Night, Liv."

She was out cold before she heard anything else.

Sleep always had a disorienting factor about it, especially to someone as determined to always be in complete conscious control. She came awake slowly, feeling heavy and confused, but warm and comfortable. Usually when she slept, she twisted herself around in all sorts of odd positions, often waking up with one limb or another pinned underneath her. She tried shifting her arm to get the circulation going again, but it wouldn't move.

It scared her enough to bring her fully around, though she still felt sleepy and drugged. Elliot's face was looming above her, his hands on her waist, shaking her gently. The sight brought it all back, sending a burst of adrenaline through her that was almost enough to break the hold of the medicine he'd given her.

"Hey, sleepyhead, have a nice nap?" He seemed amused to witness her groggy confusion.

It only made her really wish she could slug him. She glared at him as he pulled her to a sitting position, trying to take in any changes since she'd last been conscious. Her hands were once again cuffed behind her, but her coat was on, zipped up, her arms through the sleeves properly. Her boots were snug on her feet too, apparently he'd retrieved them from the snow, dried them out, and put them on while she was asleep and therefore couldn't kick him. The dome light overhead was on, lighting up the lackluster interior of the van. There was a bottle of water and a sandwich sitting next to him, her stomach growling at the sight of food.

He chuckled at the sound. "Yeah, I figured you'd be hungry."

He lifted the sandwich to her lips, causing her to notice for the first time that he'd removed the gag. Not entirely, cause she could see it out of the corner of her eye, hanging from her cheek. Her mouth was dry and the nasty aftertaste of the pill coupled with her hunger reduced her to the point of actually taking a bite. She was tempted to spit it in his face, but she feared that would only result in his not letting her eat. And she'd need food for energy to escape.

Even as she worked to chew a few bites, with the occasional sip of water, she felt herself drifting. Her head was so heavy that she couldn't quite hold it up, realizing she was actually resting against his shoulder and too fucking tired to do anything about it. By the time she was down to the last bite, he had to prompt her to swallow because she was actually about to fall asleep with it in her mouth.

Sleepily, she tried to keep her wits about her. "What did you give me?" She wasn't sure what words actually came out of her mouth because it sounded like Charlie Brown's teacher to her ears.

"A sleeping pill. Don't worry, I take them every night. It'll wear off."

Her brain seemed to be working, even if her body wasn't cooperating, and she realized she'd just learned something important. Unfortunately, she wasn't quite sure what it was or what it meant.

She tried to talk again, wondering what he was going to do with her once she was unconscious again. He'd only dressed her the last time. Maybe it was time for her undressing. "Where are we? Where are you taking me?"

"We're a little north of Syracuse. I'm taking you to the Adirondacks, there's a cabin up there where you'll be safe. It's just taking fucking forever because of this damn storm." He helped her take a few more sips of water before pushing the tape back across her mouth. "As soon as we're out of screaming distance of anyone, I'll take that off you, ok? Until then, I don't trust you as far as I can throw you."

She tried to glare at him, but her eyes just closed instead.

She felt like her head was on fire, from the inside out. Her stomach was rolling unhappily and the fucking sun was so fucking bright through her closed eyes that she thought it might blind her. Her body was moving, without her permission, flying or falling, tumbling or spinning, something. She was on a fucking roller coaster and she wanted the hell off before she fucking died.

"Liv, come on, wake up for a minute."

His voice was so impossibly loud she was fairly sure she'd have serious hearing damage, if she didn't go completely deaf. She tried to drag her hands up, to cover her ears or her eyes or maybe to keep her head from exploding from the pain. But her hands wouldn't move.

"Olivia!"

She groaned unhappily, realizing she had no voluntary control over her mouth either. Painful as the process was, she tried taking a mental inventory of what was working and what wasn't and what hurt so bad. It only took seconds for her to reach the conclusion that everything was busted and everything hurt so fucking bad she thought death might be a welcome respite.

"Liv, wake up!"

A car wreck. That had to be it. That would explain the pain and the unresponsive body parts and the completely irritating, extremely familiar voice screaming her name in her ear.

Although she knew it was going to hurt like fucking hell, she pried her eyes open, if only to indicate to the rescuers that she was conscious.

"Jesus, Liv, are you ok?"

What a stupid fucking question to ask someone pinned immobile in a smashed car. And once her body started responding to her commands, she was going to tell the fucker that.

Mercifully, the sun went away. She wanted to hug the fucker, because when she pried her eyes open again, she realized that the sun hadn't gone anywhere. Elliot was leaning over her, blocking the light that had been shining in her eyes, protecting her from what had felt like laser beams striking her in the eye.

And then she remembered that the fucker had just kidnapped her and had her handcuffed to the floor of a van and was probably only waking her so she could put up a fight she would never win. And she was pretty damn sure whatever pill the bastard had forced into her mouth explained the fact that she felt like death.

To add insult to injury, he waited until she was fully conscious before he peeled the tape from her cheek, pulling unmercifully.

"Are you ok?" He looked concerned, like he really fucking gave a shit.

"Fuck you!"

With that, he slapped the tape back over her mouth. The shout had seemed like a brilliant idea when it occurred to her, but the throbbing aftermath in her head was unexpected.

"Look, I'm going inside to buy some supplies. Do you need anything?"

Was he fucking kidding? She needed her fucking hands uncuffed, her damn gun back, and his vivisected body hanging on her living room wall as a trophy. Though it hurt to keep her eyes open, she stared at him, hoping the pure hatred she felt for him would translate through her blurry eyes.

He waited, like he expected something from the woman he'd gagged with duct tape. "Shampoo, hand lotion, tampons?"

She continued glaring, fearing what sort of sick fucking thing he'd come up with to do to her. They'd worked sex crimes for a long, long time and had seen some pretty unbelievable shit out there. His warped mind could probably throw down with the best of them.

Finally he sighed. "Ok, never mind." Then he was gone, letting the light pierce her eyes until he slammed the door behind him.


	16. Chapter 15

Part Fifteen

As soon as he was gone, she tried to put aside her physical complaints. She needed to assess the situation. Her hands were behind her back, rather than under the seat where they'd been when he'd drugged her. Her coat was on her as were her boots. Sick fuck must have wanted to play dress up with his life size Barbie doll. She forced herself to sit up, then move to her knees, trying to see out the tiny circular windows, finding them as blacked out from the inside as from outside. The inside door handle appeared broken, which probably explain why he'd chanced leaving it while he was waking her.

She figured there must still be a way to work it and so she struggled to turn herself around, her knees unhappy with the cold steel floor. She couldn't see behind her and fumble with the lock at the same time, but she tried looking at it to analyze what needed to be done to get it open and then trying to recreate the steps with her hands backwards and upside down.

Luckily, she heard the key sliding in the lock and so was able to shift herself back around to not look quite so guilty when he pulled open the door. He smiled at her, a silent greeting that she nearly returned, except that there was tape over her mouth and she was his prisoner and she kind of wanted to kill him. She didn't even necessarily want him dead; she just wanted to kill him. And as fun as killing him sounded, castrating him while he was awake and aware sounded damn near irresistible.

"You're up. I thought you'd pass back out as soon as I left." He set a few plastic bags next to her. "I got you a toothbrush. Figured you might regret not packing one."

She rolled her eyes, turning her face away so he wouldn't see.

But he saw anyway. "I'm not going to hurt you, remember? And you might want to brush your teeth at some point." He looked around behind him, past the van door. "There's no one around, so can I possibly convince you not to scream if I take that off?"

She wanted to say no, except that her head was still throbbing from shouting at him and she wasn't sure she'd survive a scream. So she nodded, lowering her eyes, hating that she had to be so cooperative with him, uneasy with the idea that she was no longer his equal after so many years.

He nodded to the side. "Move over." When she did as instructed, he climbed in the back, pulling the door closed behind him. "Damn, it's cold out there." He leaned closer, narrowing his eyes when she tried to move away. "Will you stop that shit already?" Satisfied that she was staying still, although it was only due to the fact that she'd reached the far side of the van, he leaned over again and snagged the tape. Rather than the other times, he removed it completely, throwing it aside.

Instinct made her want to rub her cheeks to soothe the sting, but her hands were still bound behind her. Instead she rubbed her cheek against her shoulder, then turned the other way and repeated the action. He pulled off his gloves, then reached out with both hands, pressing his palms against her face, soothing the burn from the tape.

"Sorry about that." After a moment, he pulled back and offered her a soda out of one of the bags. "Thirsty?"

She was, desperately so, if only to calm her displeased stomach. Tentatively, she tried her voice. "Where are we?"

"Not much further than we were an hour ago. The fucking roads aren't plowed up here. Or maybe the snow's just coming down too fast to keep up."

Coughing to clear her throat, she wondered why she felt like days had gone by since she'd been in her apartment, being attacked by her former partner. "An hour? Are we out of Manhattan?" She'd gotten home right around rush hour, so an hour of driving in the snow would still have them close to the city, if they'd even escaped the gridlock that bad weather produced. Except it was really fucking quiet, the sort of quiet that creeped her out. The sort of quiet that didn't happen in New York. The sort of quiet where a murderer might take his victim.

He laughed as he opened her drink, holding it to her lips while she took a sip. "No, we're a little further north of Syracuse." He set the soda next to her, sitting back to stare once again. "I'd have thought you'd at least listen to me what with all the trouble I went through to get you here."

"Syracuse? We got north of Syracuse in a blizzard in an hour?" It wasn't possible. He was obviously lying to her, trying to make her insane, as though he hadn't already succeeded in that. "Where are we going?"

His eyes narrowed. "I know we just went through this an hour ago."

She didn't like the certainty in his voice. She didn't like the concern in his eyes. And she really didn't like the feeling that she'd missed something. But she shook her head emphatically, not realizing until it was too late that the motion would make her head hurt worse. Damn near blinded by the pain, she closed her eyes and waited for the worst of it to subside. "No, you just shoved a damn pill down my throat and that was it."

"That wasn't an hour ago, Liv." He checked his watch. "More like six."

"Six hours?" That must have been some potent fucking pill he gave her; she never slept that long, not without waking up a couple of times. "I was out cold for six hours? What the hell was that pill?"

Laughing, he shook his head. "No, I woke you about an hour ago. Gave you half a sandwich, told you where we're going." He waited for a beat, watching her carefully. "None of this is ringing any bells, is it?"

"No." The thought of having eaten, let alone having had him feed her a sandwich, reminded her that her stomach was pretty fucking angry at her.

"You weren't as pissy then." His brow furrowed and he leaned closer, staring at her eyes. "You know, you really look like you drank yourself stupid last night." Before she could even respond, he continued. "And you don't have any recollection of an entire conversation we had."

"So?"

"So I take one of those pills to get to sleep just about every night, which might explain why you seem to think I've developed a drinking habit."

"I personally scraped you off a bar last week, Elliot." Despite her own argument, his words made sense and explained a hell of a lot.

"I never have more than one drink when I go out. I can't afford it." But a rape mobile appeared within his budget.

Still, she felt rather guilty for having allowed Chuck to swindle him out of a hundred bucks. Then something occurred to her. "Wait, you went out for a drink after you took a sleeping pill?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, so? I usually wash them down with a beer."

She couldn't help but laugh. "You can't mix alcohol and sleeping pills. You're lucky you're not in a fucking coma!"

He ducked down, his cheeks red enough that she could see it even in the dim light coming in through the windshield. "How the hell was I supposed to know?"

She kind of wanted to smack him for his stupidity. "The entire planet knows not to mix alcohol and sleeping pills. That's how rock stars accidentally kill themselves."

He glared at her. "Then apparently, the rock stars aren't aware of it either."

Laughing, she shook her head. "My god, you're a fucking moron sometimes."

He rolled his eyes at her. "Oh yeah, you're real fucking scared of me. Scared to fucking death, aren't you? That's why you're calling me a moron."

His words, apparently meant in jest, brought her back to reality, to the fact that he had her handcuffed in the back of a van in the process of kidnapping her ostensibly to rape and or murder her. The shock of the change stunned her.

It wasn't that she trusted him.

It was that she'd forgotten she didn't trust him.

She felt dumber than she ever had in her life. How had she managed to forget that he couldn't be trusted and joke with him? It was the pill. It had to be. The damn things had apparently turned him psycho, or so he said, so she could easily blame them for her behavior as well.

With all traces of humor gone, she looked up at him. "What do you want with me?"

He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath slowly, the same way she'd seen countless authority figures do over the years when she'd annoyed them beyond measure. When he looked at her again, she could tell he was exceptionally mad at her even though his voice gave nothing away.

"I'm taking you to a cabin in the Adirondacks where I can keep you safe until I can figure out what to do with the son of a bitch who came after you and tried like hell to make me look guilty." He reached out, a motion that he'd made more than once in recent days, stroking his fingers lightly against her cheek. "I'm not going to hurt you. With the way things were going, Liv, I just didn't have time to sit you down and convince you." His hand dropped away from her skin. "I don't even know what the fuck I could do to convince you. This way you're safe and I'll have to let you beat the shit out of me later for scaring you."

She tried to hold his stare, to dissect the emotions she saw there, but she couldn't. He sounded so much like the man she'd believed him to be for so long, so much like the man she'd started to believe hadn't existed, so much like the man she'd missed so desperately. It would be so easy to believe him. And so dangerous. There were facts, immutable evidence, that he was guilty. Even the whole thing about the sleeping pills, he could have made the whole thing up just to fool her. If he was really sick psychiatrically, trying to make sense of his motives was a futile exercise. Hell, for all she knew, he was hearing voices that told him to stalk her.

There were things he couldn't explain, like how he'd gotten her key and how her thong wound up on his car. Even his wedding band in her bed – the best he could give anyone was that he didn't know or that someone was framing him. One thing she'd learned after so many years as a cop was that there was rarely, though she wouldn't say never, a brilliant, gifted criminal pulling the strings of hapless individuals who appeared guilty. Usually, the dumbass holding a gun and a stolen credit card was the one who'd used the gun to steal the credit card.

Her brain understood that Elliot was guilty, that, for whatever reason, he'd chosen to harass her and stalk her and try to rape her and kidnap her. The facts were there, the evidence as solid as Cragen had claimed. Had it been any other case, she wouldn't have looked twice. It was that obvious. She was there, after all, bound in the back of a van staring at the man who'd abducted her from her apartment at gunpoint.

Her heart was a different story altogether. A single glance in his eyes assured her that he was telling her the truth, that he was a good man, that he cared for her, that he wouldn't hurt her, that he was doing what he had to do to keep her safe. There were other things that made no sense at all if Elliot were guilty – like the flowers someone else had given his name to buy and the thong that had most likely disappeared while Elliot was accounted for somewhere else. And the fact that he'd already overpowered her several times, yet gone out of his way to make her comfortable, done nothing more harsh than he absolutely needed to in order to keep her with him.

Olivia was ruled just as much by her heart and pure instinct as she was by her head. The only way for her to arrive at a final, decisive answer was to gather more information. Unfortunately, she wasn't going to get her hands on any as long as her hands were cuffed behind her. She knew that the seesawing in her perception that had started before he'd kidnapped her was going to continue, driving her insane, allowing her to let her guard down with the man she loved only to panic for having been suckered in by a nutcase and trying to protect herself from further harm to her fragile, of late, psyche.

Either Elliot was already crazy or she would be soon.

He sighed, realizing not only that the conversation was over, but why it was as well. "We need to get back on the road before the weather gets any worse." Without any further explanation, he stood up, folded over at the waist, and climbed over the back seat and behind the wheel.

Judging from the fact that he'd opted not to open the door, Olivia decided the lock really was busted. He was over six feet tall and wouldn't have gone twisting himself around like that if he could have gotten out the door like a normal person. It seemed that Elliot, for whatever fucking reason, was deeply convinced that he wasn't doing anything wrong; therefore, reasoning with him probably wasn't going to work. Which left her with one option: escape. If she wasn't going to be able to talk her way away from him, she was going to have to run.

She tested the cuffs, finding that they were a little loose, but not nearly loose enough to pull off without losing her thumbs. Luckily, she knew there might be another option. She'd always been tall, long legs, long arms. Her lanky frame, and utter lack of an ass, had drawn no end of criticism in her high school years. Though she'd never tested it, she thought it might work to her advantage.

Keeping her head turned to watch Elliot, she tried shifting herself around. In a matter of seconds, she wound up on her back. The soda he'd given her had helped with her stomach, but not the headache, and so falling and smacking her head into the floor hurt quite a bit. But she didn't have time to waste. She'd never been that good with geography outside the city streets she knew like the back of her hand. She had no idea how much further there was to go.

"You ok back there?"

She froze for a minute, wondering if he could see anything, unable to remember if there'd been a rearview mirror or not. It wouldn't make much sense to have one in a van without any back windows, but that didn't mean shit under the circumstances. He hadn't sounded angry, though, so she decided he must simply have been checking on her.

"It's a little bumpy."

"Yeah, sorry about that."

Pleased that he'd bought her excuse and lapsed into silence, she concentrated on working her hands around her skinny little butt. It hurt like hell, the steel of the cuffs tearing mercilessly at the tender skin of her wrists as she pushed, but she refused to give up. Running would be hard enough with her hands cuffed. As she'd discovered in the alley, running with her hands cuffed behind her wasn't going to work out well.

Finally, with an amount of effort that made her head feel like it might explode once again, she managed to pull her hands and battered wrists down behind her thighs. Then it was just a matter of contorting her legs in such a way that she could pass them one at a time through her linked wrists. Only when her hands were resting, throbbing painfully, on her stomach did she put her head back and rest.

Less than five minutes later she had another unhappy revelation. Every fucking minute that she let him drive north was a minute further away from New York. She'd never been to the Adirondacks, but she doubted they were quite the bustling metropolis that Manhattan was. She infinitely preferred the concrete jungle to forests that hid all sorts of hairy creatures with claws. She'd learned the hard way in Oregon that she was truly a city girl. Just the thought of the cabin he'd mentioned made her shiver at the image of a shack with no insulation or running water.

"Uh, El?" She wished she had the time to wait until the pill induced hangover was gone, but it was better now than never.

"Yeah?"

"I need to use the bathroom." She sort of did, and it was only way she'd come up with that might convince him to open the door. The bonus was that he might stop at a gas station rather than turn her loose, or worse stand guard, behind a bush.

"Ok. I'll look for something."

As he drove, she carefully slid herself over, working her way behind the door that opened. There would only be a short time between when he opened the door and when he realized she'd altered the playing field. Knowing her legs packed far more of a punch than her hands, she shimmied down so her feet were just inside the door, her legs bent. She was ready to strike.

"This place is closed down, but we can probably get the door open." He paused while he turned the van and slowed it to a stop. "And I doubt it was anywhere near clean enough for your standards when it was operating, but there isn't too much up here."

With a pounding heart, she listened as he shifted into park and opened his door. She heard the crunch of snow and ice as he walked around to the back door, saying a quick prayer, in case there was a god and he was interested in winning her trust. And then she waited for the click of the door handle.

She didn't give him the moment he would have needed to realize what she'd done. She struck as soon as she saw him, planting her feet squarely against his chest, kicking with all the might in her legs. As he fell back, she blessed the StairMaster at the gym, the one she'd despised and cursed so many times. And then she leapt to her feet, running for all she was worth.


	17. Chapter 16

Part Sixteen

There was no time to study her surroundings and pick a direction. She'd aimed for his upper chest, a move designed to throw him off balance and get him out of her way. Had she struck lower, she might have broken some ribs, which would definitely have slowed him down, but he also likely would have doubled over into the van, blocking her exit.

She heard him cursing up a storm and knew he was on his feet, chasing after her. The bright blue of her coat seemed to glow in the dingy light from the gas station sign and Olivia cursed Jeb's Foreign and Domestic for leaving his damn light on. But there were trees up ahead, dark and thick, hopefully enough to lose Elliot in. He wouldn't give up easily, she knew, but she figured she was more desperate and therefore might outlast him. Maybe she could hide in the darkness, wait out morning, run for it, whatever it might be, at first light.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Olivia! What the hell are you trying to do?"

Hiding was her only option. He was faster and taller than her on a good day. Apparently doubly so when running in over a foot of snow. Her fucking parka and boots had been purchased because she hated being cold, not because they helped her move faster. She could hear from his curses that he was getting closer.

Desperation gave her extra strength, allowing her a burst of speed, making her feel light as a feather as she dashed toward the promising darkness.

His body came down on her like a fucking ton of bricks. A heavy fucking ton of heavy fucking bricks. Maybe two tons. A trick he'd probably learned in his high school football days. She tried to fight, wrestling him as best she could, but the fall had once again stolen the breath from her lungs. As soon as he flipped her onto her back, he grabbed the length of chain between the cuffs, yanking her hands and arms up and over her head.

She looked up at him in the low light, seeing her partner's fierce rage reflecting in the depths of his eyes. His body was once again straddling her, his weight centered above her. That was it, she knew, she'd forced his hand. He was going to have to rape her or kill her there, where Jeb and his staff might find her. She took in what breath she could and let out the loudest fucking scream she'd ever heard. At least it sounded that way to her.

He didn't much like it. Holding her arms over her head with one hand, his other came down and clamped over her mouth. "What the fuck are you trying to do? Do you think you're going to survive out here for long? Look around, Olivia, there's no one here!"

She was crying again, sobbing, half blind from tears. She didn't need to look around. They were surrounded by snow that revealed no one had been around for a very long time. The silence spoke volumes as well.

He leaned down, shifting his hand from her mouth to below her chin, holding her face still as he forced her to look at him. "Where the fuck are you running to? Do you even know which direction civilization is in?"

Unable to think of anything else to do, she struggled beneath him and tried to pull her hands free. "Please! Please let me go, I won't tell anyone. I swear. I won't tell anyone what you did. I'll tell Cragen I made the whole thing up. Please just don't rape me!"

His hand released her chin, moving down to grab her coat at the throat, pulling it and her head up toward him, toward his face that was so full of fury she was surprised it hadn't melted the fucking snow. "I gave up everything for you! You think I'm ever going back to the NYPD again? I lost my job, my pension, my family, I'll probably never see my kids again, all because of you! Everything, Olivia, you cost me everything! And I didn't care! I just wanted to fucking protect you!"

The tears in his eyes, the way his voice started to crack as he yelled, made her wonder which one of them was nuts after all.

"You want to run away? Go ahead. Good luck. To hell with you!"

His weight shifted off her, leaving her ice cold immediately without the heat from his body. His shadow crossed over her and then she heard him stomping through the snow, the sound getting softer as he got further away. And she was terrified. She didn't know which way to go, he'd been right about that. She knew of all the places someone might look for her, Jeb's Foreign and Domestic wasn't on the list. The bedraggled appearance of the station she'd barely seen as she tore past it didn't really leave her with much hope that Jeb was coming back any time soon, let alone soon enough for her not to be frozen stiff.

Shakily, she pulled herself into a sitting position and twisted around to look for Elliot. She fucking hated him, at least part of her did, but he and that van seemed as close to home as she was going to get for a very long time. She wasn't sure she wanted to watch the taillights disappear into the distance, carrying him away from her.

He was pacing behind the van, his hands on his hips, his breath visible as he stared up at the sky. She wondered if he was praying, maybe seeking guidance, maybe trying to decide what to do with her. His words echoed in the silence, his voice so loud in her head that she couldn't ignore it. She'd cost him his job, his family. She hadn't; he'd been the one to stalk her. But again, he'd been screaming his persistent claim of innocence at her, his patience worn thin because she was fighting him while he was trying to help her.

At least he hadn't driven off yet.

She heard him mutter something as he sat down in the back of the van. It crossed her mind that he was going to find the duct tape and ensure her compliance for the duration. Instead he just sat there, his face dropped into his hands, his elbows resting on his legs. It seemed that he really didn't care if she ran off.

She didn't know what to do with that. She told herself that if he was truly so desperate to take care of her, to keep her safe, he could hardly let her traipse off into the woods. Of course, if he was really out to rape and kill her, it would hardly serve his purposes to let her go. Either way, it seemed like he should have insisted that she come back with him.

Sniffling, she found herself hoping he was going to come back for her because she didn't think she could bear the pain of walking back to him and having him reject her.

Call her Patty fucking Hearst, but she didn't want him to leave her.

Her heart soared when he looked back at her. He stood and slowly started making his way to her. But rather than grabbing her and dragging her back to the van, he squatted down in the snow until they were at eye level and held her stare.

"You said you'd never stop trusting me, Olivia. Remember?"

She shivered, telling herself it was more from the cold water seeping into her pants than from the intense way his eyes held hers.

"Now's the time to prove it."

She nodded, trying to swallow back her tears. "Please don't leave me here."

"I had no intention of leaving you here. You're the one who decided to run off." He stood up, reaching down, waiting for her to give him her hands. "Come on, you must be freezing."

Uncertain, but thinking a fairly large portion of her sanity had abandoned her for good, she lifted her hands and let him help her to her feet. As soon as she was standing, he moved again, his arms locking around her, pulling her as close as the layers between them would allow. She froze in shock, her mind reeling with the possibility that he was really was going to hurt her after all. But rather than hurting her, he just stood there, her hands and arms sandwiched between their bodies, his face pressed against hers. His breath grazed her ear, causing another shudder to rip through her body, assuring her head that her body, as well as her heart, was on his side. After a moment, his hand moved to the back of her head, his fingers slipping through her hair. Unable to stop herself, she turned toward him, her head moving forward, her face pressing against his neck.

"God, Liv," his groan was lost as he ducked down, catching her lips with his.

She didn't know, couldn't understand, what she was doing as she opened her mouth, letting his tongue invade. As his mouth worked against hers, she felt her body responding, not to the man who'd kidnapped her, not to the man who'd tried to rape her, but to the man she'd loved in secret for years. For a brief moment, the ideas meshed in her mind, the man she was kissing was the man she'd loved in secret for years and the man who'd tried to rape her as well. She felt herself shaking, honestly unsure if it was fear or desire.

He pulled back immediately; his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open. And before she knew it, he'd backed up several steps as though she was the one to be afraid of.

"Did you really need the bathroom or were you just hoping to run off?"

Embarrassed, she shrugged. "Both, I guess."

He nodded past her shoulder. "Go ahead." He started back to the van, leaving her standing there, but he turned back halfway. "Wait, why don't you put on something dry?"

The fact that she'd been sitting in snow had not entirely escaped her, but when she looked down at her soaked pants, she suddenly started to feel the chill. The energy which allowed her to sprint through the nearly knee deep snow was gone, leaving her to trudge back to the van with heavy, tired legs.

Elliot was holding the bag he'd asked her to pack, offering it to her. There wasn't much about the whole thing that didn't strike her as odd, but somehow, the fact that he hadn't taken out a pair of pants for her really bugged her. He was the man that, by all accounts except his own, had invaded her privacy, stolen her clothes, tried to rape her. He'd just had his tongue in her mouth, for god's sake. And there he was, seemingly uncomfortable at the idea of touching her clothes without her permission. Without a fucking clue what was really going on, she took out a pair of jeans and headed, unsupervised, for the grimy bathroom behind the door that wouldn't quite shut.

He was waiting for her when she returned, nodding toward the passenger side of the van. "Tell me you're not going to jump out of the damn van while I'm driving."

She shook her head, exhausted even though she'd had hours to sleep thanks to Pharmacist Elliot. She climbed into the seat once he opened the door.

He leaned over her, hooking the seatbelt through her cuffed arms so she couldn't jump out if she wanted to. He shrugged at her questioning stare. "I asked you to trust me. I didn't say shit about trust you."

She leaned her head back against the head rest and let sleep come.


	18. Chapter 17

Part Seventeen

The next thing she knew, Elliot was calling her name. She could feel his hand on her thigh and nearly panicked until she realized he was only shaking her. She tried to figure out why he needed to touch her leg and opened her eyes to glare unhappily at him.

But as soon as she looked, she understood that he couldn't reach anything else. She was slumped over, her head resting on his shoulder. Mortified that she'd done such a thing, even in her sleep, she jerked back upright in her seat.

"Hey, we're here."

Looking at the darkness, broken only by the snow's reflection of the pathetic bit of moonlight that shone through the clouds, she didn't know how he could tell "here" from anywhere else. In fact, she wasn't even sure how he'd managed to tell where the road was. She would have thanked her lucky stars they hadn't wound up dead in a ditch somewhere, except the jury was still out regarding whether or not death was better than whatever Elliot had in mind.

Because if that man was crazy enough to think Detective Olivia "City Slicker" Benson was sleeping in a fucking tent in the fucking mountains in a fucking blizzard with a fucking stalker, he had another thing coming. Her face revealed her lack of enthusiasm at the idea of leaving the relatively secure confines of the van.

He was laughing, tapping her shoulder, nodding toward his left side. "Don't panic yet."

Thankfully, she could vaguely see the shape of something that appeared to have walls. She automatically reached for the door handle to let herself out, but her cuffed wrists reminded her that nothing was up to her anymore. "Am I supposed to stay here?"

He was already out of the car, gathering things from the backseat. "It's up to you, Liv, but I imagine it's going to get pretty fucking cold out here without the keys, and don't think for one second, I'm going to trust you with them." He shut the door, moving around to the back of the van to gather her bag and the bags he'd picked up at the store. "You coming?"

Completely unconvinced on what was the better course of action, she unhooked her seatbelt and then joined Elliot as he walked toward the door. The cabin was bigger than she'd thought, actually appearing sturdy and well built. She watched quietly as Elliot set down the things he was carrying, kicking through the accumulation of snow that had certainly fallen prior to the current storm. Finally, his kicking revealed a massive pile of fist sized rocks.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" He squatted down, picking them up one at a time and shaking them.

If she was looking for evidence that the man was off his rocker, listening to rocks was pretty clear. "What are you doing?" They hadn't been out of the van for two minutes, but the cold wind was already biting through her clothes.

"Looking for the fake fucking rock with the god damned key in it."

Whoever owned the cabin, which she only knew wasn't Elliot, would probably not like the way Elliot was rearranging the rocks by chucking them over his shoulder without caring where they landed. But she didn't particularly care about the landscaping. And so long as he wasn't throwing rocks at her, she wasn't going to argue.

"Whose cabin is this?" She rubbed her hands together and tried to keep herself warm because her parka wasn't exactly doing a bang up job of it anymore. Of course, it was meant for the city, where there was always somewhere for her to duck into if she wanted to warm up. She'd bought it for warmth, of course, but the real selling point had been the simple fact that it was pretty, something she was starting to rethink.

"Cragen's." Elliot paused for a moment, looking up at her. "Maybe his wife's? Or a friend of hers? I don't remember. He told me about it a long time ago."

She'd always taken the boss to be as much of a city dweller as herself. "Can't really imagine him roughing it."

"He hid up out here after his wife died. Couldn't deal with being in their house, looking at all her stuff. But he said this place reminded him of the vacations they used to take and so he went back home and hasn't been back here since."

"Hasn't she been dead for twenty years?"

Elliot shrugged at her. "I don't know. Maybe. Had to be sometime before I met him, so yeah, probably about that. He was still drinking when she died."

She squatted down next to him, wincing at the dwindling pile of rocks. "If no one's been here in twenty years, how do you know there's still a key where he left it?"

"He used to loan the place to friends so he didn't have to pack it up and sell it. Doesn't look that run down to me, so maybe he still does." He reached out, picking up one rock that looked particularly smooth and round. As he shook it, there was a telltale rattle from inside.

"You don't even know if someone lives here?"

"If someone lives here and left the key outside, they deserve to have us crash the party." Despite his certainty, he moved slowly to fit the key into the lock. He pushed the door open, waiting for any sounds from within. "Hello? Anyone home?" Then he turned back to her, motioning for her to go inside while he collected the bags he'd dropped. "See? It's empty."

As soon as the door closed, it became immediately obvious why it was empty, at least to her. It was freezing inside, for some reason quite possibly colder than the outside had been. Shivering, she tucked her hands between her legs, trying to keep herself warm.

"Damn, it's cold in here." His voice sounded louder than normal in the pitch blackness. "I've got a flashlight in here somewhere."

She stood there, bent over and shaking. Her teeth started to chatter while he searched around for the light. Eventually, although she thought it was definitely after hypothermia had set in, a thin beam of light cut through the darkness, revealing dust particles dancing in the air.

"There are supposed to be instructions on how to start the generator in the kitchen. You want to come with me or wait here?"

She couldn't even stop her teeth from chattering as she spoke. "I want to wait in the van with the heat running."

There was pressure on her back for a brief moment as he patted her. "Just give me a minute. Once the generator's running, we'll have lights and heat."

Luckily, the kitchen appeared to only be a few feet away. Olivia watched the light beam move carefully over the surface of the countertop, the appliances, finally stopping on the refrigerator. She wanted to bitch that he really should have planned his foray into kidnapping better and point out that she wouldn't be any good for collecting ransom if she froze to death. Of course, when she thought about it, she didn't see how she'd be any good at all if his desire was ransom. It wasn't like there was a big ass family waiting for her, praying she was all right. Cragen and the guys at the precinct would be sad to hear that she was gone, but they weren't about to pay up. In fact, she realized, if there was anyone in the world who might actually consider, although undoubtedly be too broke in the long run, paying ransom, it was Elliot. She wondered if he was going to ask himself for the ransom.

The idea was absurd. Ridiculous. But she was freezing and about at the end of her rope, sanity-wise. She just started to laugh, thinking about even weirder possibilities. Maybe Elliot was going to hit up his split personality for the money. Maybe he had an evil twin. Maybe he thought he could get her to buy her own freedom. Maybe he thought they would just spend the rest of their lives growing their own food and hiding out from figments of his imagination in Cragen's abandoned cabin. She just stood there, shivering and shaking and laughing.

"I'm going outside to start the generator. Think you can hold yourself together while I'm gone?" He'd crossed back to her, blinding her with the flashlight.

Suddenly realizing what it meant to be a deer in the headlights, she stopped laughing. There wasn't a damn thing funny. It was no joke that Elliot really had kidnapped her and, since he wasn't any more mechanically inclined than she was, there was a very real chance they'd freeze to death together without a working generator.

But he hadn't waited for an answer, simply disappeared through the door, taking the light and whatever tiny bit of heat his body generated with him. Shivering harder, she stared blindly into the darkness, hating the eerie silence. Elliot was dangerous. But being without him felt just as dangerous.

There was a series of noises that followed, which she chalked up to Elliot finding his way to the generator that was undoubtedly covered with snow. Then there was a string of curses and horrible noises that she suspected constituted Elliot's response to the non-working generator. She wanted to be disappointed or sad or something that they really were about to freeze to death, but she was too fucking cold.

Elliot returned a few minutes later, dropping something heavy and loud just inside the door. "Ok, it's running."

She wanted to say something about him having beaten it into submission, but it wasn't worth expending the energy. She wasn't sure she could talk with the way her mouth was shaking.

"I just have to throw the breaker in the kitchen and we should be in business." His voice accompanied the flashlight beam back into the kitchen. The sound of whiny hinges and a snap were followed by the overhead light in the kitchen coming to life.

Somehow she'd thought lights would make it warmer, but she got the feeling it was a little too cold for that to have much effect.

He walked back to where she was standing, gathering up the snowy, icy wood he'd thrown at her feet. "I'll start a fire. That should help warm you up."

How the hell he was still able to move was beyond her. She guessed he was probably better dressed for the cold, having had some idea of where they were headed. Just watching him move, his body seemed a bit restricted and his legs, where they appeared beneath his coat, were thicker than normal. He was probably wearing long underwear under his clothes and she glared at him, hating that he'd been able to plan better.

Cragen, or whoever spent time there, had been thoughtful, leaving a small basket of newspaper shreds and twigs next to the fireplace, helping Elliot start a raging fire within minutes. As soon as it was going, Elliot returned to her side, guiding her toward it, pulling the flannel blanket from the couch and setting it down for her to sit on.

The fire felt wonderful, the heat warming her face. But she was still freezing and she recognized that it was going to be a long time, and possibly never, before the fire could possibly make the cabin comfortable.

She turned to Elliot, realizing that he'd actually sat down behind her in an attempt to help warm her. Some fucking kidnap victim she was, sitting there in her captor's arms, not even aware of it. Her disgust was in herself, but he saw it and thought otherwise.

He pulled back. "I'm sorry. I was just trying to help."

She might not have noticed when he'd offered his body heat, but she definitely noticed she he took it away. Truly worried about her own physical survival, she reached for him, trying to reassure him. "It's ok."

His eyes were narrowed, but he moved closer anyway, wrapping her back into his arms, his legs coming to rest outside of hers. "Think the bastard could have picked a worse time to fucking send us running? Fucking July would have been nice. Not that I really want anyone trying to hurt you and blame me ever, but still, this is really fucking inconsiderate."

She didn't bother to mention that he was the one responsible for all of it, the stalking, the running, hell, he wasn't to blame for the blizzard, but it was his fault it had any impact on them. "Can we wait in the van?"

He shook his head, tightening his arms around her, covering her gloved hands with his. "We don't have that much gas left. No place was open with the storm, so we need to conserve what we have. I'll go out in the morning and get some. I need to pick up some more food too."

Oh, dear god, she did not want to get stranded up there without any means of escape, even if she somehow convinced Elliot to take her home. She shivered, letting him think it was just from the cold. She didn't need any more cards stacked against her. If she managed to steal the van to go for help, she didn't want to have to worry about running out of gas too.

It felt like forever, but eventually, she was warm. Actually, she seemed to go right to hot, her body starting to sweat under all the layers. She shifted, trying to loosen Elliot's hold on her. Escaping wasn't on her mind, just breathing.

But Elliot's grip wasn't releasing, and his hands stayed linked around her. She turned to look, finding his eyes closed, his chin resting on her shoulder. She actually felt bad waking him, until she thought about the fact that she needed him to unlock her hands in order for her to take off her coat. The bastard.

She jabbed her elbow backwards, feeling him jerk awake as he fell back, not awake enough to keep his head from knocking into the floor.

"Ow, shit! What was that?"

Feigning sleepiness, Olivia blinked at him slowly. "Huh?"

He sat up, rubbing the back of his head. "Damn, it got hot in here, didn't it?" His eyes locked on her face, almost inspecting her. Then a rueful smile crossed his lips. "You did that on purpose."

"Did what?" Her heart was pounding so loud she thought he might hear it. She didn't want to know how bad his mood would turn if he thought she was trying to hurt him.

"You're all sweaty, Liv. You were hot and you wanted to wake me up." He dug into his pocket, pulling a small key out. "You could have just asked, you know. You didn't need to go for the ribs."

He unlocked the cuff around one wrist, allowing her to take off her coat, while he shed his as well. He watched as she pushed it aside, her skin crawling with the idea that he was going to watch her do everything. But when she glanced at him, there was nothing creepy about his stare. He looked tired, exhausted. It had to be the middle of the night, she realized, and he'd been up all that time, driving while she was sleeping.

"You ok now? Can I go back to sleep?"

She nodded, hoping he was tired enough that he wouldn't remember to reattach the cuffs. Then she could cuff him and find where he'd stashed her gun and take control of the situation.

"Good night." He stretched out beside her, using her parka as a pillow and his own as a blanket.

And just when she started counting her chickens, she felt his fingers lace through hers, his other hand coming up to lock the dangling cuff around his wrist, securing them together. With a silent snarl she knew he couldn't see through his closed eyes, she stretched out next to him for lack of any other options. As he drifted back to sleep, he rolled onto his side, his free arm wrapping around her waist holding her close as though the steel linking them might not be strong enough.

Thoroughly irritated, she imagined smacking him across the face, knowing that was the closest she could come to the real deal. As she lay there, wide awake and resenting the comforting, protecting presence of his arm around her, she thought of something. The evidence spoke for itself, clearly placing the stalking incidents on him. Perhaps, with whatever had happened with his marriage, Elliot needed someone to protect. Maybe he was missing that part of him that crawled into bed and snuggled with his wife. Twisted as all hell, she realized, maybe Elliot had set up the whole scenario just so that he could comfort her, so that she could cling to him and let him take care of her.

Maybe he hadn't actually intended to hurt her. He'd just wanted to scare her into his arms. He liked protecting things.

She turned over, rolling from her back to her side to face him. He was asleep, making up for those hours of driving in the snow, having reached his goal of getting her to the cabin where he could keep her safe. He didn't want to hurt her or rape her. He wanted her to need him.

Maybe, she thought, he wanted her to love him.

Maybe if she did, or seemed to, he'd let her go.

Maybe he really didn't have any fucking clue she always had.

Swallowing hard, she made a decision. She was attracted to him, some part of her wanted him still, despite everything. And if it would save her life, save her from eventually being raped, it was worth it.

She closed her eyes, nuzzling her face into his neck, letting her lips press against his skin. He wasn't that deeply asleep, his hitched breathing and groan giving away that he felt her movements, that he appreciated them. She moved her free hand, sliding it over his shirt, across his chest, then around his waist, following as she pushed him onto his back.

He was eager to cooperate, his hand moving against her waist as he turned to kiss her. It hadn't taken much effort at all to entice him, making her firmly believe her conclusion was right.


	19. Chapter 18

Part Eighteen

Just as each time before, including the times he claimed to not remember, their mouths locked together, his tongue seeking, her lips granting. She felt the spark in her, the one she always had whenever he touched her, the one that damn near set her fire whenever his mouth touched her. She shifted her weight, pushing herself completely over him, letting her legs spread over his hips, gravity pulling her center down on him.

The hand that was cuffed to hers gripped her, his fingers squeezing so tightly that she was afraid he might crush hers. His other hand moved up, brushing over her back, finding its way into her hair, securing her face next to his. She tried to keep her mind from going anywhere scary, forcing herself to remember how much she'd always trusted him, refusing to think of how he'd tried to hurt her, recalled instead how gentle and loving she knew he could be. As she knew it would, her body responded without needing her mind's approval. There was no revulsion, no hesitation. It was getting a chance that it had wanted for a long time and it was perfectly happy taking it, not the slightest bit concerned about any lingering mental damage from the encounter she was instigating.

Slowly, carefully, she worked her mouth off his, trying to convince herself that she wasn't enjoying kissing him while telling herself she couldn't stop under any circumstances. Her mouth slid across him, her lips brushing across his jaw, his five o'clock shadow scratching her skin as she kissed and nipped and licked down his neck. From her position straddling him, she was well aware of his body's quick and eager response. She knew that she couldn't back out, not then, not even if she wanted too, because she'd succeeded too well in garnering his attention. He wanted her and she'd purposely turned him on and she knew there was a very real chance, if she tried to back out, that he wouldn't let her.

She turned her mind away from that possibility, concentrating instead on the way his light touch made her tingle and shiver and crave more. Even with what he'd done to her, her own body had been so very quick to respond, her own desire throbbing between her legs. She didn't want to feel dirty and gross for wanting him, his touch, but she couldn't help it. Later, after she was home and safe, she could consider how what she was doing was different than being raped, knowing the line wasn't quite as obvious as she'd convinced herself it was.

"Oh, fuck, Liv," his moan accompanied his fingers digging into her back, his encouraging response to her suckling his throat.

And that, she knew, was the difference. He wasn't above her, hitting her, pleasing himself at her expense. Instead, he was lying there, wanting her, letting her call the shots. It wasn't what she wanted. It wasn't how she wanted it. But it was better than the other option. It had to be.

Her free hand worked down his chest, reaching for the hem of his shirt. He caught on to her intention, moving their joined hands to help, letting the discarded cloth bunch at their connected wrists. For a moment, she was overwhelmed, realizing that she was having sex with her partner, with the man she had wanted, had loved, for so damn long. He was there with her, letting her touch him, his hands smoothing over her body, perfectly willing to act on their long-standing, long-denied attraction. In that pause, he leaned up, capturing her mouth once again, kissing her, copying her movements as his lips grazed down her neck, sucking her skin into his mouth as he had before.

She let him, luxuriating in the incredible sensation, believing that the physical release between them had been inevitable from the day they'd met.

But she realized, as amazing as he was making her feel, that she wasn't there to feel good. She was trying to protect herself. She was trying to stay alive. She needed to stay in control.

With a shudder, she pushed him back down, dropping her face to the skin of his chest before he could try to distract her again. She had to keep her eye on the prize, remember that she wasn't trying to get off. Shifting her weight, she worked her way down, her hands stroking down his sides as she pressed open mouthed kissed down his abdomen. She was on autopilot as she reached for his belt, her fingers fumbling slightly as she tried to hurry for fear of losing her nerve.

He moved to help, his hand still connected to hers at the wrist. She wanted to take the time to pat herself on the back, finding his reaction exactly what she'd thought it would be, seeing his goal all along had been to fuck her. She was glad that she hadn't fallen for his shit about just wanting to be nice to her, to protect her.

But unhooking his belt seemed far more difficult than the same action had ever been on any other man she'd ever been with. She lifted her face from his stomach, looking down to see why she couldn't get the damn thing off him, her vision blurred from tears she hadn't noticed.

Except she didn't need to see. Because she could feel.

His hands were closed around hers, preventing her from getting any further. She didn't understand, couldn't figure it out, and so tried to work at the metal catch without having the freedom to move her fingers.

"Liv, stop, what are you doing?"

She wanted to laugh at his stupid question, except that she was suddenly very, very afraid that if she opened her mouth she would start sobbing and never be able to stop. Pulling her hands out from under his, she renewed her attack on his belt, trying to unhook it, desperate to get control of herself and him too, knowing she could if she only moved fast enough.

"Olivia! I said stop!"

She didn't even know what was happening. One second she was straddling him, his erection pressing against her ass through his pants, trying to get his damn belt open. The next, she was flat on her back, her hands pinned up beside her head, her body squarely pinned beneath his.

Fear, disappointment, shock, even a twinge of heartbreak over the idea that he didn't really want her after all, all kinds of emotions were rolling around in her head, all of them trying to win out, none of them succeeding.

"Olivia, look at me!" He was above her, his face all she could see, his eyes unavoidable. "What are you doing?"

She stared at him, unable to look anywhere besides the heat and tension and confusion and anguish she saw in his eyes. "I thought you wanted to."

"Fuck, Liv, of course I want to. But why do you?" The myriad of feelings reflecting on his face were resolving into concern and she was jealous that he could even pick something to feel.

She didn't understand what he was asking. She didn't understand why he was objecting. But she did understand that his body was still interested and she decided he must have wanted to be on top. She told herself it was ok, as long as she was still consenting, and reached up to catch his lips.

He barely let her make contact, pulling away as soon as she saw her coming. "What is this? What are you doing?"

She started to resent him. She was giving him what he wanted, letting him have her body with no argument, and he refused to just take it. He didn't want to win unless he could defeat her in the process. The bastard had to have it his way. But she wasn't about to let him hold her down. "It's sex. It's what you wanted, right?"

His mouth fell open, but that was all the reaction he offered her.

"I'll have sex with you, El, you don't have to hurt me. You don't have to force me. I'll fuck you. It's ok. I'm ok with it." The tears, the sobs, were back, choking her as she tried to plead with him. "Please, Elliot, please just let me agree and then you won't have to force me!"

"Jesus, Olivia, you think this is about fucking you?" He sounded truly baffled by her words.

She tried to blink away enough of the tears to focus on his eyes. "It's not?" The idea that he didn't want to just didn't make any sense, not with the way his arousal was still pressed against her.

He was shaking his head, mumbling something to himself, reaching down, into his pocket, producing the key, separating their hands. "Jesus Christ, Olivia." He flung her hand away from him as he pushed himself to his feet. "I want you, but not that bad, not like this."

Completely at a loss for what she was supposed to do, for any kind of sign as to what he wanted from her, she curled onto her side and cried.

He didn't stay away for long. He was at her side in a minute, pulling her first upright and then into his arms. She didn't react or move or speak. Her body was wrapped in the fetal position, her sobs explaining her feelings, her confusion. He held her close, his hand rubbing along her back as he tried to calm her.

"Shhh, Liv, it's ok. I'm sorry." He rocked her slowly as though she were one of his wayward children. "What's going on, huh? Why are you so upset?"

She said nothing, letting out the fear and the tension and the upset, even the desire that had been coiling deep inside her. There was nothing to say anyway, no way to explain to him that she was terrified of him yet crushed by his rejection. And she didn't know how to tell him that his still bare chest was only serving to torture her further.

It was a long time before he spoke again, after her sobs had died off. She would have thought he'd drifted back to sleep except for the hand that kept stroking her back, threatening to relax her to sleep, faster than any pill would. One of his hands moved to cup her cheek, turning her to look at him, his eyes searching hers.

"You know me better than anyone, Olivia. Do you really think I could rape someone? Do you really think I could hurt you?" He sounded as hurt by the idea as she had been when he turned her away.

But despite the way she longed to believe him, if only to calm her internal torment, the situation didn't allow for trust. "You were stalking me. You tried to rape me. You kidnapped me at gunpoint, Elliot. What the hell am I supposed to think?"

His eyes narrowed and the hand on her back stilled. "I told you I didn't hurt you. That wasn't me. Somebody set me up. Set both of us up. Why is it so much easier for you to believe that I went nuts and tried to rape you than thinking it's one of the fuckers we've pissed off over the years trying to screw both of us?"

Her eyes narrowed right back, lifting her wrist with the handcuff dangling in front of his face. "You did kidnap me at gunpoint. Or are you claiming that was someone else too?"

A hint of a smile dared to form on his lips so fast she wasn't even sure she'd seen it. "No, that was me." He still seemed amused by it, as Olivia knew she would have been if she hadn't legitimately been afraid for her life. "But I told you I didn't have a choice. You wouldn't listen to reason. You're convinced I went to all this trouble to have sex with you."

"I wouldn't listen to reason? What part of being kidnapped by you ought to convince me to listen to you?" She scoffed, trying to ignore the odd sensation of having an argument with the man while she was in his arms.

Not for the first time in their partnership, Elliot's eyes held a certain twinkle, one she firmly believed meant that he could read her mind and knew exactly how off balance the sight of his muscled chest made her. His fingers brushed across her cheek, pushing her hair back behind her ear. "I haven't hurt you yet."

She glared at him, wishing that his touch hadn't, didn't always, set her heart racing. "You did shove a sleeping pill down my throat." She didn't think there was any need to mention that he'd nearly done the same with his tongue several times as well.

He nodded, another amused smile daring to appear. "I couldn't have you screaming for help when I stopped to pay the tolls, now could I?" He waited a moment while his arms settled loosely at her waist, making her think she was off the hook. "I went out of my way to protect you and I haven't done a damn thing to hurt you, so why do you think I want to fuck you while you're crying your eyes out over having to touch me?"

She refused to contemplate the hurt in his voice. She refused to contemplate the honest way he'd sounded. She had to keep herself from believing him. Because if he was really screwing with her, the double cross would be so much more devastating the second time around, not to mention entirely her fault. "You climbed in my bed and tried to fuck me while I was asleep." She pulled away from him, climbing to her feet and reminding herself again that he was the enemy, that she shouldn't be seeking comfort in his arms. "And you didn't really seem all that upset by the idea a minute ago."

He stood up, crowding into her personal space. "I've never heard of a woman trying to seduce her rapist."

His words made her feel disgusting, like she'd been in the wrong to touch him, and she recoiled. "I didn't have a choice! I thought if I gave you what you wanted you'd let me go!"

"Right, you're so god damn scared of me that you climbed on top of me. Come on, Olivia. You're not fooling me, so cut the crap." He leaned closer again, a sick, self-righteous smile giving his eyes a twisted, demonic gleam in the low light. "I didn't fucking try to rape you, Olivia, and you know that because we both know I wouldn't have to."

She shuddered from the harsh truth he threw at her. She had been turned on, even though she saw no other way out, and he'd known it. She would have had sex with him if he hadn't stopped her. And she wouldn't have been able to say he forced her. It made her feel so dirty that she wanted a shower. But all she could do was turn away, wrapping her arms around herself while she started to cry all over again. He was making her crazy, pushing and pulling, playing with her emotions. She didn't know how much more she could take.

He wouldn't let her go, grabbing the loose handcuff and pulling her around to face him. Then he held her chin, his fingers so tight they dug into her skin, his eyes dark and intimidating. "Don't you dare fucking tease me like that again or I will snap. Do you understand?" She looked down, refusing to meet his eyes, hating the pure rage she saw in them. When she didn't respond, he shook her, somehow pulling her eyes back up. "Do you understand me?"

She nodded, unable to say a word for fear sobbing would piss him off even more.

He glared at her, threatening her, scaring her, daring her to challenge him. She didn't, following mutely when he used the cuff in his hand to pull her toward one of the two doors in the cabin. As soon as he pushed through it, her eyes fell on the king-sized four-poster bed. Although he'd just sworn up and down that she was the fucking rapist, he was dragging her to the bed. She couldn't help the instinct that caused her to pull away, to fight his lead. His eyes were somehow darker, more furious when he looked at her.

"No! Please!" She knew no one was around to hear her shouts, but she couldn't help it. She'd just offered to screw him and he wouldn't have her, only to be forcing her moments later.

She'd thought she'd seen Elliot good and angry over the years. But she'd never seen anything like the wrath on his face when he gripped her forearm, pulling her towards him, using the momentum of her lost balance to hurl her toward the bed. She screamed again as she landed on her back, her arms and legs spread widely for only a moment until she curled in on herself once again, whimpering and crying and squealing from sheer terror.

"Oh, knock it the fuck off, Olivia. You're not a fucking drama queen." His hands were rough and unmerciful as he pulled at her arms.

She fought with all her might, praying that he would just leave her alone.

And then, with the clinking sound of the handcuff locking, he did just that, slamming the door closed behind him when he left.

It took her a long time to calm the hysterical panic that his fury had unleashed in her. She lay there, once again curled as tightly as she could, except for the arm stretched out and attached to one of the posts, crying herself to sleep.


	20. Chapter 19

Part Nineteen

She awoke in the darkness, unsure if it was a few minutes or a few hours later. As if the whole situation wasn't enough to drive her out of her mind, the quiet was adding to it. She wasn't afraid of the dark, hadn't been for a long, long time. But dark in New York City and dark in the fucking Adirondacks were two very different concepts. And the silence was unlike anything she'd ever experienced in her life. No matter how quiet her apartment got, there were always sirens and voices and city sounds, comforting her, assuring her that she wasn't alone.

The cabin was as quiet as a fucking tomb. She hadn't heard Elliot drive off, but she'd been sobbing so loudly, she knew she wouldn't have heard a fucking bomb drop in the next room. She strained her ears, holding her breath, trying to pick up the noise of another person breathing, living, in the cabin. But she couldn't hear anything. Except for the occasional gust of wind that made all sorts of disturbing sounds as it whipped through the woods.

He wouldn't have left her there. He couldn't have.

But he'd been pissed as fucking hell at her.

Shaking from the terror of having been left alone there to die because she'd pissed off her partner one too many times, she took a breath and tried to call him without sounding so fucking scared.

"Elliot?"

The only answer that came after a long interval was an odd, muffled thump. Elliot wasn't sneaking around, she knew that. He'd have no reason to. The only explanation was that he hadn't been lying about someone else being after her and that the someone had followed them, murdered Elliot, and was waiting out there to scare her to death.

"Elliot!"

The thump wasn't muffled the second time. In fact, it was terribly loud, sounding like half the fucking cabin had collapsed and she managed to panic once again, thinking a god damned bear was in the next room. But the curse that followed a moment later was decidedly human. And undeniably Elliot.

He threw the door open so hard she jumped, assuring her that he wasn't a bit less angry with her. "What the fuck do you want now? Room service?"

She was so relieved to see him that she forgot she hadn't had any particular reason to call him other than simply to know he was there. But seeing the ire that had yet to die, or perhaps had been rekindled by reminding him that she was still there, she didn't think it was wise to tell him the truth.

"I have to use the bathroom."

He sighed, glaring at her from the doorway, obviously trying to decide what to do with her. Finally, he approached her, stopping at the foot of the bed and starting to unlace her boot.

"What are you doing?"

He shrugged, working through one boot and tossing it on the floor before moving on to the other. "Just in case you get any bright fucking ideas about running off again. There's a couple fucking feet of snow out there. You aren't going anywhere without boots."

She hadn't thought about it. She'd been so fucking happy that he hadn't abandoned her. But, even without her boots, the idea had been born and was whispering taunts in her ear. Maybe she could hotwire the van before she froze to death. Maybe she could find another cabin in the area. Maybe he wouldn't bother chasing her again, at least leaving her to die peacefully and on her own terms in the fucking snow. She didn't say anything, letting him uncuff her and lead her to the other room.

He looked half asleep as she closed the door, his red rimmed eyes reminding her of all those run-ins when he'd been drinking. She went for the window immediately, knowing that time was of the essence. The wind was icy as she eased up the sash, causing her to shiver immediately. She looked outside, eyeing the snowdrift that had accumulated next to the cabin, realizing that she was going to have to dive into at least three feet of snow and ice.

The window was high, narrow and short, probably designed to allow for decency in the bathroom. Olivia put one foot on the toilet seat, hefting herself up onto the sill. She was determined not to go out head first, not into snow that deep, and had to contort her legs around, sliding them through the opening. Her hips were almost as wide as the window, forcing her to wiggle them back and forth. At least she knew that when he realized she was gone, he couldn't follow her. He'd never fit through the small window. It might buy her some extra time.

And suddenly, without a bit of warning, gravity woke up, grabbing hold of her body and yanking her down, her arms twisting sharply behind her as she fell. The fall stunned her, her feet already caked with snow, her body shivering as the snow surrounded her up to her shoulders, crystals of ice breaking loose and falling into her shirt. It was cold enough to freeze her brain, she thought, sitting there, too fucking cold already to move.

But adrenaline kicked in, warning her that Elliot was bound to check on her soon, knowing that she couldn't be sitting there in the snow like the frozen asshole she was starting to think she was. She pushed herself up to her already numb feet and waded through the deepest of the snow, aiming for the line of trees a few yards away. She didn't even know what she was doing, what she was aiming for, she only knew that she couldn't sit there, Elliot's docile, brainwashed prisoner, waiting for something to happen.

And if the fucker wasn't out of his mind, she knew, he would know that.

Olivia was tough and strong and she wasn't averse to causing herself physical discomfort in the short term if it meant saving herself in the long run. But she wasn't accustomed to wading through snow that was nearly up to her waist and she certainly didn't make a practice of wandering around outside without shoes. Although her feet were numb enough that she couldn't be sure her toes were still there, they fucking hurt. And every branch and twig and bit of ice dug into her frozen skin and hurt like a motherfucker. But she bit back any cries of pain that threatened to escape, knowing that every second was one second closer to Elliot figuring out that she was gone, unwilling to give up the second that her yelps might cost her.

As she hit the tree line, she remembered her utter fear when she'd thought she was alone. The moonlight reflecting off the snow had been enough to make her forget how very dark it would be. But the moment she crossed between the first two trees, the light disappeared, returning her to that hideous, darkness where the only sound besides her breathing was the crunching of snow under her bare feet.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" His voice was softer than she expected, causing her to realize that she'd made it a lot further than she thought she would have. He must have given her the benefit of the doubt, not peeking in on her when she claimed to need the bathroom, assuming she had the sense not to try to freeze her damn feet off.

But really, she told herself with a bit of quiet, hysterical laughter welling up, Elliot really should have known that sometimes she didn't have a god damn bit of sense in her head.

"I swear to god, Olivia, I might fucking strangle you when I find you!"

She wasn't at all convinced the threat was in jest. And she wasn't at all convinced he wouldn't get the opportunity to prove it because she'd left a painfully obvious path through the frozen over snow behind her. She knew she really had no chance of escape. She knew she never really had. But she couldn't give up, making her half numb legs keep propelling her forward.

She couldn't say that his strong arms were entirely unwelcome when he scooped her up, swinging her shaking, pliant body up out of the snow.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Rather than the anger she'd expected, he sounded concerned, scared.

She was shaking so hard she could barely speak, but she thought she had to. She needed to say something to explain herself to the man who'd run out into the snow after her, not any better dressed for the occasion himself. "I had to try." It was true. She was a fighter and she would fight until there wasn't a damn breath of life left inside of her. She just had to hope she wasn't fighting against her own best interests.

It was almost forever before she was back in front of the fire, cradled against Elliot's body, his soaked legs outside of hers, the skin of his bare feet as angry and red and undoubtedly painful as hers as the heat coaxed circulation back into them. He was shaking too, she could tell, simply because she knew she didn't have the strength in her body to shake that hard.

After a few minutes, he stood, bringing his bag from the couch, placing it next to her, and then joining her once again. She didn't fight when he lifted her wet, icy shirt over her head. She couldn't even tell whether it was colder without it. But he didn't make her wait long, pulling one of his long sleeved shirts over her head and then adding a sweatshirt. He shifted around, pushing her sideways and laying her back as he reached for the button of her pants. Some part of her wanted to argue, to rebuff him for having the audacity, but she was so very cold that she didn't care all that much. He pulled her jeans off her, throwing them aside. His hands felt like fire against her skin, and she cried out in pain from the sharp, hard way he was rubbing her legs. But she didn't fight, recognizing that sex was possibly the furthest thing from his mind. She couldn't have fought anyway, she knew, because she wasn't even able to help when he pulled a pair of his thick sweatpants up her body. She couldn't even feel it when he did the same to her feet, rubbing them harshly before putting socks on her.

He stood up again, and she thought he was going to do the same things for himself, to free himself of the cold, wet clothes he was wearing. Instead, she watched as he grabbed the flannel blanket they'd used earlier from the couch, wrapped it snuggly around her, and scooted her closer to the fire. It was only then that he undressed himself, not bothering to take the same care, simply pulling on dry clothes before folding his body around her.

His voice was broken, cracked and sad when he spoke in a hushed whisper. "You could have died out there, Olivia."

Her body was starting to warm, though she suspected the shivering would continue for a long, long time. She wanted to explain herself, knowing the reason for running didn't make any sense in light of the loving way he'd taken care of her. His care had been the polar opposite of the man who'd thrown her so roughly on the bed. She started to think that maybe there was something really wrong with him, not that he was trying to hurt her, but that sometimes he was someone else, someone she didn't know, someone he wouldn't recognize. She turned toward him, unable to meet his worried eyes.

"I want to go home. Please take me home."

His arms tightened around her, pulling her harder against his chest. "I can't do that."

It hurt to hear him say that because she'd dared to hope that this man, this version, was Elliot, her partner, the man who wouldn't deny her anything it was in his power to give her.

"Why not?"

His legs tightened around her too, reminding her that he was so much bigger than she. "Because someone tried to rape you and he's still out there."

She shivered, wanting to feel safe in Elliot's arms, wondering if he really didn't know he was the one who'd hurt her, hoping that she was wrong.


	21. Chapter 20

Part Twenty

The sun was slow to rise, trying to fight its way through the clouds, only succeeding a tiny fraction of the time. But she lay there, watching the black sky turn to purple, then blue, then gray, eventually lightening to a dull shade of white that promised more snow was coming. The thought would have made her shiver, except she was in the inferno that was Elliot's arms, sandwiched between him and the fire, unable to identify which one of them was actually hotter.

Elliot was out cold, sound asleep with his vise grip around her waist. She'd discovered while the sky was still a pretty violet shade that he'd passed out without remembering to reattach her handcuffs. One of them hanging from her wrist, clattering noisily every time she moved. Elliot was such a heavy sleeper that he didn't stir no matter how much noise she made.

Olivia had watched the rainbow of colors through the window, trying to decide what to do with her hard earned freedom. It seemed like it would be cheating to run off while he was asleep. Plus, she couldn't dispute the gentle, loving way he'd cared for her, undoubtedly saving her life hours before when she'd taken an ill-advised stroll through the woods. She'd been on the receiving end of lectures about her utter lack of common sense starting in the third grade. Unlike most people, while Elliot always got annoyed with her, he never really seemed to think any less of her for all the stupid shit she tried.

Out of fear that she might actually melt from the heat, she stood up, carefully untangling herself from his arms, trying not to read anything into the intimate way they'd twisted themselves together. She waited there, watching, expecting that he would notice. But he flopped over on his stomach as soon as she wasn't there for him to lean on, and continued sleeping.

Olivia headed towards the kitchen, a grumbling stomach demanding that she acknowledge it. As she passed the couch where he must have been sleeping while she was cuffed to the bed, she saw a mostly empty beer bottle, standing next to it was a familiar amber bottle. With a sigh of disappointment, she knew he wasn't waking up any time soon, nor would he be particularly happy when he did. Shivering, she remembered how she'd recognized his angry red eyes when she'd been in the bathroom. She was tempted to dump the damn pills down the sink, but she hesitated. If he was hooked on them, detox would not be fun. And she wasn't about to sit through it as the only possible outlet for his emotions.

There weren't a lot of choices for food, only whatever he'd grabbed during that one stop. She settled on a bowl of oatmeal, staring at the handcuffs half attached to her wrist while she waited for the water to boil. The last time she'd known, the key had been in his pants pocket, the very same pants he'd left discarded on the living room floor, soaked from the snow. A million ideas ran through her head. She could uncuff herself. She could hide the damn cuffs somewhere so he couldn't use them again. She could cuff him, rummage through his stuff until she found her weapon, turn the whole situation back on him. Six hours of driving through the snow wasn't exactly her idea of fun, but she knew she could be back in her apartment, having dinner on her couch while Elliot rotted in prison.

She leaned back against the counter, folding her arms around her stomach, seeing the way his sweats pooled loosely around her. She couldn't do it. She couldn't run back to the city to have him arrested.

She couldn't say that she believed him. But she wanted to. So very desperately.

She ate her breakfast without tasting a bite of it, leaving the dishes in the sink while she poked around, curiosity and boredom spurring her to look around the cabin. Although she hadn't paid any attention the night before, she quickly realized the place was practically filled with pictures. Everywhere she turned were shots of a happy, smiling couple, always together, always touching, sometimes holding hands, sometimes with their arms wrapped around each other. She wanted to be jealous, to resent the pair who was so ridiculously happy and in love, but as she stared at the living room wall, covered nearly floor to ceiling with framed photos, she realized she knew the man, though she'd never once seen Don Cragen looking so damn happy nor so young.

The pictures no longer seemed so wonderful; the smiles taking on a dark foreshadowing. She didn't like knowing how their story, one that seemed so wonderful and perfect, ended. No wonder the man hadn't been able to return there. The evidence of his wife made Olivia want to drown her sorrows; she couldn't imagine the sort of effect it would have on the alcoholic spouse left behind.

An unhappy groan from behind her informed her that Elliot was awake. She panicked for a moment, fearing he would think she'd tried to escape again, wishing she had taken the opportunity when she'd had it. She wondered if that was what it felt like to go insane, to have her mind telling her to do two opposite things, to firmly believe two opposing ideas. She stood there, frozen, watching as Elliot struggled to sit up, moaning and whining and holding his head like he'd been on a three week bender.

Reminding her of how she'd felt when she'd woken up from her pill-induced coma.

After a minute of sitting there with his hands over his eyes, Elliot slowly climbed to his feet. With half closed eyes, he looked around at the pile of still wet clothes littering the floor. "What the fuck-" His eyes moved to her, noticing her presence. "What's with the creepy silent stare?"

She didn't know how to respond to him. She didn't know what to make of his behavior, the way he winced at the dull gray light coming in the windows.

"God, it's fucking bright in here." He stumbled to the kitchen with his eyes closed, pulling a bottle of water from the refrigerator and sipping at it.

Olivia followed him, expecting the other shoe to drop at any moment.

He glanced at her again, doing a double take, and then slowly raking his eyes up her body. She nearly shivered from the intensity of his eyes when they met hers. "Are those my clothes?"

She nodded, wondering why she felt more naked standing there in baggy sweats several sizes too big than she had when he'd stripped and redressed her a few hours prior. Perhaps because he hadn't seemed the slightest bit enticed by her half-frozen body, which, she unhappily realized, didn't appear to be the case anymore. She suspected he liked seeing her wearing his clothes. It made her want to strip them off, despite the comforting scent she knew and loved that wafted from them when she moved.

He nodded at the mess of wet clothes in the living room. "Did we go out hiking or something last night?"

She'd thought she was the crazy one, but it was looking like it was him after all. "Or something."

He dropped into a chair, looking like he just wanted to crawl back in bed. "How'd you get out of the bedroom anyway?" He didn't pause long enough for her to answer, instead forcing his hooded eyes to hers. "Weren't you handcuffed to the damn bed post in your own clothes last night?"

She sat down across from him, pulling her feet up onto the edge of the couch, letting the shiny metal of the cuff draw attention to the beer bottle as she motioned at it. "I don't think you should take those pills anymore. At the very least, don't drink when you do."

"Haven't we had this conversation before?" He narrowed his eyes at her, immediately taking offense where she truly hadn't intended. "You weren't a doctor last time I checked."

She glared back at him, wanting to point out that she hadn't run off while he was asleep, but afraid to point it out for fear he'd lock her right back up. "You probably wouldn't remember if I was."

He stood up, approaching her, holding his hand in front of her face. "Where's the key?" She only shrugged. She really didn't know because she'd been too stupid to go for it. "Give me the god damn key, Olivia, or I'll fucking search you for it."

She stood up, feeling stronger and better able to fight with him when he wasn't towering over her. "You wouldn't fucking dare."

His eyes sparked, adrenaline or desire or something chasing the drug hangover from his system. "You want to find out?" His eyes held hers, challenging her, waiting for her to fold.

But there was nothing for her to give him, except the satisfaction of backing down. It just wasn't her style. She jutted her chin out and put her hands on her hips. "Go ahead. Search me. Put your slimy fucking hands on me and prove me right about what a sick freak you are." She wasn't entirely convinced she didn't want him to. She wasn't sure she was fooling him either.

She thought she might actually swoon when his hands reached for her, finding her waist, grabbing the hem of his shirt. But all he did was pull her against him, trying to intimidate her with his sheer size.

"Give me the fucking key, Olivia!"

"I don't have it." She wasn't sure how far he was willing to take it; she only knew that he was calling her bluff.

"The fuck you don't." But even as he glared at her, she could see the doubt in his eyes. "How did you get out of the bedroom without the key?"

She didn't want to tell him. She didn't want to inform him of her little nature walk if he didn't remember it. But she wasn't sure he wouldn't do a full body cavity search looking for the damn key otherwise. "Unless you've got Alzheimer's all of a sudden, you need to stop taking those fucking pills."

He let her go, his hands settling on his hips instead. "Oh, please, enlighten me. What did I forget this time?"

Hating herself for doing it, and him for making her, she dropped back down on the couch and told him. All of it. Her calling him, his anger, her attempt to run, his dragging her back to the cabin.

He stared at her from his perch back in the chair until she was finished. He didn't look like he particularly believed a word of it. "So, after you ran off in the snow, I brought you back here and just forgot to keep you from trying it again."

She shrugged. "I don't know." She'd passed out before he had. She couldn't begin to guess at his motivations. "Maybe I learned my lesson." At his disbelieving glance, she smiled, she couldn't help it. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

With a heavy sigh, he shrugged back at her. "You don't have to keep trying to get away from me, Liv. I'm not going to hurt you."

She wanted to point out that he'd just threatened to strip search her, but she couldn't honestly tell if he'd been serious or not. She didn't know what she thought anymore. The whole thing, the indecision, was wearing her out and making her crazy. "I want to believe you." Shaking her head, she looked down and stared at the floor. "Half of me already does."

He moved from the chair to the couch, reaching out to take her hand. "Then what do I need to do to convince you?"

"I don't know." She peeked at him, but found the floor much less emotionally charged. "What do you expect me to do? What would you do if you were in my position?"

He chuckled, his genuine amusement bringing her eyes back to his. "Liv, if you kidnapped me and cuffed me to a bed, the last thing I would try to do is escape."

She couldn't help but laugh, feeling the familiar tingle of flirtation between them. But the mood turned serious quickly and she held his stare. "If you want me to believe you, then explain something to me."

He nodded, not breaking eye contact for even a second. "What?"

She shrugged, needing to turn away from the eagerness she saw in his face. "Anything. Any of the evidence. Explain one piece of it to me." She felt her heart pounding, reacting to her anxiety rather than the gentle pressure of his hand on hers. She did want to trust him again. She just needed an excuse. She needed him to give her one.


	22. Chapter 21

Part Twenty-One

He let go of her hand and she feared he was going to refuse. Instead his fingers brushed across her chin, turning her back to face him. "The reason those women saw me outside your apartment that night is because I was there. I was sitting there in the car for hours, trying to work up the nerve to go talk to you."

She'd expected something else. She'd expected that he'd try to come up with some impossible story of how he'd found her thong and was embarrassed to give it to her and so stuffed it under his seat. She'd expected that he'd claim someone had broken into his place and stolen his wedding ring. His words threw her, and she couldn't say if it was because they didn't make sense or because she simply hadn't thought she'd hear them.

"Why did you need to work up nerve to talk to me?"

"I got all the way to your door, that's when I met the younger one in the hallway. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't knock." He pulled his hand away, rubbing it over his mouth and chin, shaking his head seemingly at himself. "If I'd known he was going to attack you- Jesus, he must have been in there then, about to attack you, fuck, Olivia, if I'd known, I never would have let him hurt you."

She didn't think she could face the pain, the hurt, the tears, on his face. "What were you doing there?"

He stood up, pacing nervously in front of her. "I was going to tell you that I left Kathy." He took a deep breath and stopped moving, freezing right in front of her. "I was going to tell you why I left Kathy."

She turned away, already knowing that part of the story, finding her voice soft and unrecognizable and laced with heartbreak when she spoke. "You left her because you're seeing someone else." It hurt. It made sense. But it didn't explain why he'd hesitated to tell her, not unless he knew how she felt about him. That was a possibility she didn't want to consider simply because it fucking hurt.

"No, Liv, I left her because I'm in love with someone else."

She tried to hide her sniffle, telling herself that he'd wanted to avoid an emotional scene with her, admonishing herself for proving to him that he'd been right to not want to face her.

And then he was on his knees before her, gripping her hands in his. "I know you think I'm out of my fucking mind, Olivia, but I swear to you, I was there because I wanted to tell you that I love you, not because I wanted to hurt you."

Shock kept her staring at him. Shock kept her mouth from making a sound.

"I would never hurt you. Never." He let go of her hands, moving to stroke her face instead. "I didn't want to tell you like this. Hell, I wasn't even sure I should tell you at all, but I was there and I want you to know why rather than thinking I did something to hurt you."

She searched his eyes, looking for something that might prove his words true or false. All she saw was desperation, probably mirrored from her own stare. But god how she wanted to believe him, to finally understand that his body's response to hers had been steeped in love and longing, the same as hers, and not some sick, perverted desire to possess her.

He leaned forward, finding her lips again, slowly, gently, kissing her, trying to convey his meaning with touch rather than sound. He pulled back before it could lead where the other kisses had, resting his forehead against hers. "I chickened out. I realized with that bastard coming after you the timing was so wrong and you kept accusing me of all this shit that I wasn't doing-"

She pulled back, still uncertain, but needing to make her own point. "Those sleeping pills, Elliot, they make you forget shit. You need to stop taking them. You scare me when you take them."

He nodded, reaching to hold her hands again. "Ok, ok, I'll stop taking them. If they bother you, I won't take them anymore." He blinked back the tears in his eyes, trying to hold her stare at the same time. "Please believe me, Liv. I didn't hurt you."

Her face crumbled as the thought fell out of her mouth, knowing it would crush the man she loved. "What if you just don't remember?"

She could feel the shudder than ran through him through their joined hands. She hated that she'd caused it, that she'd caused him to hurt, that she couldn't be as sure of his innocence as he was, that she was causing him to question that belief.

"I'd have to want to hurt you, Liv, and I don't." He squeezed her hand, encouraging her to meet his eyes. "These blackouts you say I've been having, have I ever hurt you during one?"

She opened her mouth to argue everything, every single thing that had happened in the previous weeks, but he lifted his hand, pressing his index finger against her lips.

"The times you absolutely know it was me."

Not, she knew, when someone wearing a ski mask and his cologne tried to rape her.

She searched her memory, thinking about the trip out to the bar, the night he'd been in her apartment, the night before when he'd kept her from freezing to death. He'd touched her each and every time. He'd been all over her, perfectly willing to fuck her during two of them, albeit mostly with her participation. She'd seen him drugged and intoxicated and all he'd done was try to pursue something he claimed to have left his wife for, something, had she known he'd left his wife, she wouldn't have minded in the least. To the best of her knowledge, he'd simply acted like a man who wanted her and was too out of it to realize he was going about it the wrong way. She couldn't even say the sudden, extreme flares of his temper were at all unlike him.

She shook her head, her mind reeling. If he was telling the truth, if he really hadn't hurt her, if he'd really been as much a victim as she was, he'd never forgive her. And she couldn't say that she didn't deserve it for doubting him.

"Shit!"

She jerked out of her thoughts, realizing Elliot was staring out the window. For a moment, she thought perhaps salvation, like the police or even the stalker Elliot claimed wasn't him, had arrived, someone who might end the constant questioning confusion in her head. But she saw nothing.

"It's snowing again." He stood up, grabbing hold of her arm and pulling her to her feet. "Ok, I have to lock you somewhere. Where do you want to wait?"

"What?" All the thoughts of poor, persecuted Elliot fell away as he manhandled her once again, dragging her halfway across the room.

"I don't have time to play here, Liv. We need gas for the van and for the generator or it's going to get very cold, very fast. Living room or bedroom?"

"You're going to leave me here? What if you can't get back?" She was trying to fight him, but his hand easily circled her forearm, making any attempts painful.

"The sooner I go, the sooner I get back. I'm not going to abandon you up here. You're making this harder than it needs to be."

Pain or not, she tried jerking her arm out of his grasp, quite dismayed when he abruptly let her go, causing her to fall right on her ass. "Ow, shit, that hurt!" He didn't respond, just glared at her and waited for her to climb to her feet. "What the hell? You think I'm going to make it easy for anyone to restrain me? You must have me confused with some other dumbass you know." She backed out of his reach. "Yeah, well, fuck you!"

"Olivia, if you think I'm going to trust you not to run off and try to freeze yourself to death, think again. You don't trust me anymore, fine. Then I don't trust you either." He lunged toward her, grabbing the loose cuff before she could pull it away.

"What are you? Eight? 'You don't trust me, I don't trust you' nanny-nanny-boo-boo?" She wasn't sure that mocking him was a good idea, but he had that effect on her. She kind of wanted to stomp her feet and stick out her tongue.

Of course, when she thought about doing that, it immediately dredged up the response she figured she'd get. And having the man thoroughly distract her from the argument by sucking her tongue into his mouth wasn't entirely an unwelcome thought.

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, his frustration turning to pure anger in an instant and he pushed her against the wall. "I'm not playing."

She couldn't help it, her hormones were on overload as soon as his body pressed against hers. Her head fell back and she moaned, too turned on by the man who'd just confessed how much he loved her to care that she was making an ass out of herself. She felt the way he pressed into her, his body reacting in kind, his hands reaching for her waist, pulling her into him.

She moaned again, her fingers digging into his shirt. "Jesus, El." She waited for him to kiss her, her toes already curling in anticipation.

She waited and waited and waited.

And then she opened her eyes, finding his staring back at her, more rage than attraction radiating from them. "El?"

He grabbed her arm again, yanking her fingers from his shirt, pulling her roughly, not stopping until he pushed her backwards onto the bed again. "What did I tell you about teasing me, Olivia?"

Oh, god, he was mad. Really, really mad. She was scared, but at the same time, she'd never wanted him more.

He leaned down over her, keeping his feet planted on the floor. "You think this is a fucking joke?"

She looked up at him, trying to calm her emotions, realizing that he was perceiving a slight in her undeniable physical response. "No, no, it's not."

His hands were locked around the sweatshirt she was wearing, keeping her half lifted from the bed. "I told you not to fucking tease me, Olivia. What the hell is wrong with you? You want to keep playing with fire until you get burned just so you can throw it in my face?"

She shook her head, lifting her hands to his, trying to work herself free of his grip. "I'm not teasing you, I swear." She felt her embarrassment breaking through the haze of desire, her cheeks flushing red. "I'm sorry. I wasn't teasing, I swear to you!"

Shaking, Elliot released her, letting her fall back on the bed while he slowly pulled himself upright. Olivia didn't dare move, afraid to call attention to herself, afraid that, having seen his temper take over so completely once again, she'd been too quick to trust him.

And when his hands moved to hook the loose cuff around the bed post, she feared she'd been played again.

He sounded tired and spent when he spoke. "I won't be gone long."

Of all the sneaky, twisted, cruel things to do to her, he'd managed to find the one that would absolutely make her nuts – leaving her there alone. She sat up, staring at him accusingly. "You're just going to leave me here?"

He shook his head, his narrowed eyes and the distance he kept from her telling her that he didn't trust her. "Yeah."

"What if someone really is after me?" Should his claims be proven true, she'd prefer they weren't proven true by having someone climb on top of her again, this time when she was handcuffed to the bed and unable to get away.

His eyes clouded over again, as though he really despised that she was casting doubt on his words. "Someone really is after you, Olivia, and I assure you, it's not me."

She wanted to point out that his mistreatment of her hardly made him look innocent, but she knew pissing him off wasn't going to help. "What if he followed us? What if he comes after me? I'm defenseless!" Of course, if he handed her gun over, she might shoot him in the balls. And he probably knew that.

"How about you annoy him to death? You've damn near succeeded with me." He sighed and looked down, revealing his guilt and misgivings to someone who knew him as well as she did. "Look, I'm not taking you to the grocery store. You'll cause trouble and I don't need anymore trouble."

"No, I won't!" Few things bugged her as much as the idea of being left helpless and chained in the middle of fucking desolation.

"Yes, you will. You can't help it. You are trouble." He glanced up, meeting her eyes long enough to flash a hint of a smile. "Forget it. I won't be long, I promise."

"You're a bastard. A heartless fucking prick, you know that?"

He grinned then, half turning away from her. "See? That's exactly why you're not coming." And then he stepped through the door, closing it behind him, leaving her there to glare at the ceiling while she tried to deny she wouldn't willingly fuck him if he asked her right then.


	23. Chapter 22

Part Twenty-Two

True to his word, he was back before too long. The creepy, skin-crawling silence was really starting to get to her when she heard the sound of an engine. She wanted to be happy that he was back, to relax in knowing that he wasn't really going to abandon her, but the sounds of slamming doors and crunching snow and finally the cabin door opening didn't calm her a bit. She didn't want to give Elliot the satisfaction of witnessing her fear of being without him. But she didn't want to be lying there, feigning having no cares in the world if some freak was about to bust through the door.

"Liv?"

She wanted to hug him. She actually thought about it. Forget looking helpless and pathetic, she was just glad that it really was him. And then she remembered the handcuffs that prevented her from doing such. So she sat up and glared at the closed door instead.

He poked his head through it. "See, I came back."

"Asshole." She turned away, wishing she had the freedom to cross her arms to help drive home the point that she wasn't speaking to him.

"There's already another couple of inches out there. If this shit keeps up, we'll be here for the duration." He approached slowly, like he was afraid she was going to attack him, finally unhooking the handcuff from her arm, leaving it to dangle from the bed.

She rubbed her wrist, more for effect than actual discomfort. "Great, just what I always wanted. To be snowed in with you for the rest of time." She stood up, fully prepared to stomp off, unexpectedly stilled by his hands on her waist.

He pulled her back against him, leaning over until his mouth was against her ear. "Now, come on, you didn't seem that upset by the notion before I left."

She shoved her elbow back, nailing him in the ribs the way she'd done previously. He was her partner; she knew his weaknesses as well as he knew hers. "That was before you left me handcuffed to the bed while you went out shopping." Feeling, and ignoring, the hope that he would pull her back into his arms, she returned to her initial plan of stomping into the other room. "Please tell me you bought something decent."

He followed her to the kitchen. "What, are you going to cook for me?"

Poking through the bags, she found the candy bars she knew he'd bought just for her and ripped into one of them. With chocolate in her mouth, she felt better, slowly raking her eyes over his body. "Oh, El, you've got to prove yourself worth it before I cook for you." As she walked past him, she let her body brush past his, leaving him open-mouthed and dumbfounded. Almost as dumbfounded as she was. She didn't know what had gotten into her. She wasn't sure he wasn't her fucking stalker and he'd specifically warned her against teasing him.

With a shiver, she realized part of her wanted to see him lose control. Not because she wanted him to hurt her. Not because she wanted him to prove that he could lose his temper with her. But because she wanted him. Still. No matter what.

And fuck if he wasn't playing keep away.

She sat down on the couch, wondering how the fuck she was going to survive the experience.

"I bought you some books." Elliot's voice was muffled, and when she turned to look, she saw that he was putting away the groceries. "Figured you'd get bored with no one but me around to talk to."

For a brief, insanity inspired moment, she nearly told him how very not bored they could be together. But her eyes fell on the red line around her wrist, a reminder they weren't there for a romantic weekend, and she scowled. "Great. Thanks." She wasn't that big of a reader, but since the cabin appeared to be electronic diversion free, books were probably her best bet.

"I left them on the couch."

With his permission, she dumped out the bag, discovering that Elliot Stabler's definition of book was, in fact, a magazine. She didn't know if it was a reflection on what he thought of her intelligence or an undesirable peek into his own idea of reading, but she was dismayed as she pawed through a pile of magazines that, while undoubtedly costing him as much as the food had, didn't actually include one that she usually read. Usually, of course, being the once or maybe twice a month that she picked one up that she rarely ever got around to reading. Underneath those were three paperbacks, which she was so happy to discover that she almost squealed. Except two of them were adorned with swirly letters and obnoxiously bright flowers, quite obviously romance novels. She glared at the back of Elliot's head and thought about throwing them at him. Instead, she decided to make do with the third one, which he'd likely intended for himself, a Tom Clancy novel, the likes of which had probably been made into a movie that she'd already seen at some point.

If he cared that she'd snagged his novel, he didn't show it. He sat on the far side of the couch, shoving the stack of magazines to the floor after pulling out one she hadn't noticed, the only one featuring a car on the cover rather than home decorating ideas or smiling women with their kids.

The day passed quietly into the evening, the bitter gray sky darkening quickly as snow continued to accumulate. The idea that she was stranded, even if Elliot wanted to take her home, bothered her, but more because the snow made her feel claustrophobic rather than fearing what Elliot might do.

She'd made it about halfway through the book before she'd tossed it aside, deciding that home decorating tips might be nice to have someday. Elliot snagged the book from her as soon as she'd dropped it and hadn't looked up since. Although he showed no signs of boredom whatsoever, Olivia was starting to go crazy. It was too quiet and there was no TV or radio to put on to drown out the fucking nature sounds that made her wonder if it was possible to get poison ivy in the snow.

"El?"

"Hmm?" He didn't look up from his book and she really resented that he was just as easily enthralled with a book as he had been with her. Some stalker he was.

"How will you know when it's ok to go home?" Because, if it was up to her, she was going to start lobbying that there was no time like the present.

He looked at her, the discarded pile of magazines, and then back at her. "You're bored, aren't you?"

She was irritated with him for causing the situation, but she didn't feel like starting a fight with him. While it was certainly the fastest way to alleviate the boredom, there was something about the quiet, almost comfortable domesticity that she was loathe to destroy with a screaming match. And she wasn't really in the mood for spending a few hours handcuffed to the bed, which was apparently Elliot's favorite way to stop her from arguing.

She ignored his jab, pretending like she really wanted to go back to the top magazine, flipping it open to a random page and reading a list of recommended reading for children of various ages. A few minutes after he'd gone back to his book, she interrupted again. "You're not really planning on living out the rest of our lives here, are you?" Inherent in the question, she hoped, was the idea that she didn't particularly want him to leave her up there alone to live out the rest of her days without him either.

He turned the edge of a page down and set the book to the side. "Feel like dinner? I'm hungry." He walked into the kitchen and began pulling things out of the cabinets.

Intrigued by his refusal to answer, she moved with him, parking herself on one of the bar stools lining the counter. "El? Ignoring me won't make me stop asking." She leaned to the side, catching his eyes for a moment. "I'm fairly certain you know that about me."

He sighed and began putting what appeared to be random ingredients in a bowl. "Yeah, I know."

"So?"

"So when Cragen figures out that I'm not the one after you, he'll know where we are." He was so intently focused on what he was doing that Olivia knew he wasn't paying any attention to it.

"And what if Cragen comes to the conclusion, the accurate conclusion I might point out, that you're the one who kidnapped me?"

Elliot shrugged, crossing his arms and turning to face her. "Your detail didn't see me grab you."

"Right, but when I don't show up for work and your lawyer can't find you, someone's going to realize we're both missing and then it'll be a short leap to the kidnapping conclusion." She wondered how, since he had apparently planned particular, small pieces so well, he'd managed to miss the big ones.

"Whoever's stalking you doesn't know you're gone." He turned back the food, giving away that he was well aware of the lack of planning. "I'm hoping he'll do something stupid that gives him away which will prompt everyone to realize I'm not the person they needed to be worried about."

She decided not to press him. It wasn't worth it. If he really was the one who'd been threatening her, making him mad wouldn't help. If he really was innocent, making him mad wouldn't help then either. "Say they do find the guy and clear you, I still don't see how you're going to know."

"Cragen and I discussed bringing you up here a long time ago to keep you safe." He didn't have to say the name. It wasn't a case they talked about or even alluded to. She knew exactly who he was talking about anyway. "You have to remember it was a long time ago and we didn't know you that well. He was after you and we weren't sure we were going to be able to keep you safe. So Cragen told me about this place, gave me the directions and everything, said if it came down to it, I should get you out of the city."

She shivered thinking about it. Richard White had been one of those cases that really and truly gotten to her. And although he was her partner at the time, she'd barely known Elliot from Adam. "You would have done that? Just left your family behind and brought me up here?"

A blush colored his cheeks as he shrugged, trying to brush off the heroic way she'd made it sound. "I figured you were worth saving." He smiled at her. "It was just a hunch. I haven't made up my mind yet."

She gave him the laugh he wanted, trying to hide the way his words had stirred up her emotions and confusion once again. "Ok, well, call me when dinner's ready."

A scant ten minutes later, Elliot was calling her, divvying up the steaming contents of the bowl he'd pulled from the microwave. He set a plate in front of her. "Dig in."

She poked at the unidentifiable substance on her plate. "What is it?"

"Just eat it." He was talking around a mouthful of it himself, and she'd just seen him scooping both of their portions from the same source.

Deciding it wasn't poisoned, she took a small bite. "Hey, that's pretty good." She still couldn't identify it, but she stuck an even bigger forkful into her mouth. "What is it?"

He grinned. "Chicken surprise. My brothers and I used to make it all the time."

She poked at the lump on the plate again, wondering if she was going to regret having eaten even the little bit she had. "What's the surprise?"

With another smile, he left the kitchen, carrying his plate into the living room and settling on the couch with it.

"El?" She stabbed it with the fork and decided oatmeal might make a better dinner choice. "Seriously, El, what's the surprise?"

She could hear the smile in his voice, the voice that had snuck up behind her and answered right into her ear. "That's not chicken."

With a startled squeak, she pushed the plate away from her. She accidentally shoved too hard, sending the plate toppling over the far side of the counter, spilling the non-chicken all over the kitchen. As she made her way over to clean it up, she heard Elliot's laughter from the other room.

After she'd cleaned up the mess her flying chicken surprise made, after she'd found the plastic wrapper in the trash clearly identifying the mystery meat, Elliot had mercy on her. He explained, while dumping half of his dinner on another plate for her, that it was simply an old, half-assed casserole that his mother had concocted with chicken, noodles, and vegetables, that he and his brothers had never quite gotten right. With the substance identified, she had no problem finishing it off. It was good, she had to begrudgingly admit when he caught her wiping the plate clean with her fingers. Knowing the only family recipe she had to share was her mom's less-than-appetizing chicken soup in which she typically substituted stale bread for noodles, vodka for water, and left out the chicken altogether, Olivia thought it would be best to volunteer to wash the dishes. God forbid the man wanted her to help with the cooking.

When the dishes were drying on the rack, she returned to the living room to find Elliot re-lacing his boots. He paused to smile at her. "Feel like taking a walk?"

Walks were something she normally enjoyed, but she wasn't sure she wanted to try her hand in the woods again. Of course, the idea of needing to snuggle by the fire to warm up afterwards was a powerful draw. "Maybe a short one."

"I figured you were getting stir crazy." He zipped up his coat. "Hurry up. And dress warm."

Grabbing her bag, she stepped into the bedroom and pulled a couple extra layers on. Rather than chance upsetting him, she stepped into her boots and shuffled out to the other room to tie them. She smiled at him, trying to find enough give in her clothes to be able to reach her boots.

He laughed, leaning on the door, watching as she hugged and puffed to tie them. "Maybe you'd better lay off the chocolate bars, Liv."

She would have thrown something at him, but she didn't want to give up the hard-earned contact with her boot laces. "Shut the fuck up." It came out far more winded than angry, yet she assumed it got the point across. Finally, she stood up, pulling her hat and gloves on, grumbling at him. "If you'd told me what I was in for I could have brought the right stuff."

He pulled the door shut behind her, taking her hand to help her walk in the deep snow. "That's funny, I didn't get the impression you would have listened if I'd told you where we were heading. You were being rather bitchy at the time."

Every instinct told her to yank her hand out of Elliot's grasp and stalk off, making him well aware he owed her an apology. But she wasn't exactly able to march off anywhere with the deep snow and really, she didn't necessarily want to break the contact that he'd seemed to have forgotten.

They walked along the road, the snow there not quite as deep. It felt good, despite the occasional blast of cold wind against her face, because she felt like she'd been cooped up in the cabin for forever. She was used to being outside, although the starry sky and tall trees were unfamiliar. And when she happened to be in new surroundings, especially surroundings that could overwhelm her like being smack dab in the middle of nowhere, she was usually at Elliot's side.

Granted, the hand holding was a bit of a novelty, but not an upsetting one.

She had to admit, personal preference for neon lights aside, the area was picturesque, even to her. The road they were walking on was paved with gravel and rarely travelled. The snow covered trees and undisturbed drifts made for some awe-inspiring scenery. Occasionally, they'd pass some animal tracks. They amazed her because, except for her foray to Oregon, most of the animals she'd seen in her life were either at the end of a leash or in a zoo.

There was one set that was so big she had to ask. "What could have left prints that big?"

Elliot stared at her for a moment. "What do I look like, Ranger Rick?"

"It was your brilliant idea to come up here. I made the mistake of thinking you might know something about what's hanging out here with us." Just to annoy him, she pulled her hand away.

He leaned over, examining the prints before he smiled at her. "I think it was a bear."

Her eyes widened. "A bear?" Come to think of it, she supposed she preferred bears locked up in a zoo, eco-terrorists be damned. She looked around, checking over her shoulders with a decidedly paranoid edge. "Like a big huge man-eating bear?"

He laughed outright. "Liv, I was kidding. I don't have a fucking clue. It was probably a deer or something."

She grabbed his arm, latching onto it like he might actually be able to help her if a bear was after her. "Like a bear with giant teeth and claws?"

Still laughing, Elliot put his arm around her. "Do you want to go back?"

"Yes." She felt silly, but she couldn't help checking around them as they started retracing their steps.

Shaking his head, Elliot found no end of amusement in her fear. "Afraid of a little baby bear, I never thought I'd see the day."

She slugged him, knowing the blow had little impact through his coat. "I'm more afraid of the baby bear's mommy and I bet if you saw one, you'd be screaming like a little girl."

He grabbed her hand again, keeping up a steady pace back toward the cabin. "Yeah, you're probably right about that."

When the cabin came into view a few minutes later, she felt much better. "You know, I think I'd rather you be all chauvinistic and macho when I'm scared."

"I'll keep that in mind for the next time I kidnap you."

She pulled her hand back again. "You don't have to be that chauvinistic and macho." Although she was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt based on having done nothing to hurt her so far, she wasn't completely comfortable with the way he'd absconded with her, especially since she remained entirely dependent on him for everything, not just bear attacks.

As he opened the door for her, he smiled. "I bought hot chocolate does that earn me any brownie points?"

The idea brought a smile to her face as she peeled off her coat, still feeling the chill from being outside. "Depends, did you get-"

"Those little marshmallows you love? Of course I did." He dropped his coat behind him and walked into the kitchen.

With a smile, Olivia sat down in front of the fireplace, throwing a few extra pieces of wood into it and snuggling into the flannel blanket. "Good. Then you're forgiven. For the moment, at least."

Elliot joined her a few minutes later, offering her a steaming mug of hot cocoa, rapidly melting marshmallows decorating the top with milky swirls. Right there, in that moment, sitting shoulder to shoulder with her partner, sharing the blanket spread across their legs, enjoying the warmth of both the fire and the company, Olivia was almost able to forget just why they were there.

But Elliot nudged her shoulder, bringing her back to the present. "If I take a shower, are you going to run off?"

She really wanted to slug him for reminding her that they weren't there on vacation. Instead, she forced a smile. "Not as long as there are bears out there." Stretching her arms over her head, she stifled a yawn. "I think I might go to bed."

He nodded as he stood. "Yeah, says the one with the comfortable place to sleep."

She glanced at him, then at the couch he'd slept on the night before. It hadn't seemed that uncomfortable when she'd been sitting on it, but sitting and sleeping were two very different things. "You want me to sleep on the couch? I might fit better." She was a couple inches shorter than he was, it could very well be the difference.

"Nah, that's ok. Just in case that bastard followed us, I intend to be between him and you." He gathered some things from his bag before heading for the bathroom

"Hey, El?" She wasn't sure what she was doing. Her mouth seemed to be running off without her mind's consent again. "That's a giant bed in there, you know. Plenty of room, if you want."

He stopped dead in the doorway, slowly turning to look at her, staring at her like he thought she'd suggested they take hula lessons together. "You want me to sleep in the same bed as you?"

When he put it that way, it sounded quite unlike the polite gesture she had intended. And she didn't like the implication that she was making inappropriate suggestions. "No, I really don't care where you sleep. I was just being nice." She didn't wait for a response before she ducked into the bedroom and closed the door.

She was just being considerate, she was. And she could almost convince herself of that as she heard the sound of the shower start up. Son of a bitch. He could read her mind, she swore. He knew that she enjoyed snuggling. And while she was positive he enjoyed physical contact every bit as much as she did, he somehow always managed to put it back on her. Someday she was going to have to ask him to teach her that particular skill.


	24. Chapter 23

Part Twenty-Three

Apparently his Marine tendencies were still intact because it was less than ten minutes before he let himself into the bedroom, quietly making his way around to the far side of the bed and climbing in. He didn't shift around to find a comfortable position or tug on the blanket. In fact, the only thing she felt was the depression of the bed when he climbed in. The man was freakishly silent. Thinking of how the man who'd snuck into her apartment and climbed on top of her had been the same way to keep from waking her, a chill ripped through her. She pondered again which one of them was completely fucking nuts. She gathered the cover tightly in her fists, tucking it and her hands up near her chin, hoping he couldn't feel the way she was shaking.

"Night, Liv."

She wanted to pretend to be asleep, but she knew better. He knew she was awake or he wouldn't have said anything. Trying to keep her voice steady, she replied in kind. "Night, El."

"You really don't have to be afraid of me, you know."

"I'm trying." And she was. She only had to keep staunchly ignoring reality and she'd be all good.

"I can sleep on the couch. It's no problem."

"No, it's fine." It wasn't, but she was trying to hedge her bets, attempting to behave civilly in case he turned out to be telling the truth.

"Ok. Night, Liv."

"Night, El." With another silent shiver, she decided to will herself to sleep. The only way to determine if he was trustworthy, she realized, was to trust him and see what happened. Either he screwed her over or not. It was up to him.

She must have drifted off, because she recognized the disorientation she felt. For a long, scary moment, she took in her surroundings, trying to determine what had woken her. The room seemed secure enough, the cabin silent, the noises she'd begun to get used to outside were almost familiar. And Elliot, he was still on his side of the bed, a large enough distance between their bodies to assure her that he hadn't been trying anything untoward.

She waited, listening, wondering. And then the tortured moan beside her told her exactly what had disturbed her. Elliot was moaning, almost whimpering, in his sleep. "El, wake up."

Hoping, yet instinctively knowing better, she gave her voice a chance to work through the dreamy haze. But his anxiety only increased, his breaths becoming short and fast.

"El, come on, wake up." She rolled onto her side, squinting in the darkness, picking out his profile against the pillow, seeing his face screwed up in misery. She didn't care just then what he'd done, or might have done or might have tried to do, to her. There was only her partner, her trusted friend, and he was suffering. She reached out under the blanket, her hand finding his bare shoulder. She shook him, hoping that would work better than talking had.

He felt it, obviously, because he reached up, pushing her hand away, not quite waking up.

It hurt. It really fucking hurt. It hurt on a level she couldn't even begin to understand. Reluctantly, she pulled back, listening as he sunk back into the tormented dream, nearly crying out from the imagined pain of something only he could see.

"No!" The sheer volume of his shout made her jump

There was no way she'd be able to sleep, even if she somehow rationalized ignoring her partner's pain. Telling herself it was nothing personal, she reached out again, her hand wrapping around his shoulder again, giving it a good shake.

Again, he shoved her off, rolling away from her, muttering something Olivia had never expected to hear. "Don't touch me, Kathy."

Encouraged, she pushed herself closer, knowing she wasn't the one he was trying to brush aside. She propped herself up on her elbow, shaking his shoulder again. "El, wake up. It's Liv."

He muttered something first, but the words clicked a moment later, as he rolled back towards her, blinking sleepily at her. "Liv?"

She smiled, not even sure if he could see it in the dark. "Yeah. You were having a nightmare."

He nodded, rubbing a hand across his eyes. "Sorry for waking you."

She shook her head, completely refusing to acknowledge how good it made her feel to know that it had been his estranged wife that he hadn't wanted near him. "It's ok. Good night."

He smiled at her, his hand reaching across the space between them and folding around hers. "Night."

She hadn't fallen back to sleep when he started thrashing. It started slowly, the movements small enough that she simply thought he wanted his hand free. But after she'd let go of him, he continued to shift around uncomfortably. And then the moaning started again, a truly terrified sound pouring from his throat. She pushed herself back onto her elbow, intending on waking him again, except he beat her to the punch.

He jerked right up into a sitting position, a shout ripping from his throat just as he regained consciousness, the sound of her name yelled in such unadulterated terror sending a cascade of shivers through her.

She sat up behind him, carefully reaching out to touch his bare back.

"Fuck off, Kathy."

Undeterred, she brushed her hand along his arm, offering him a smile when he turned toward her, watching the incensed fury fade into downright relief.

"Liv?"

She nodded, telling herself that he was getting more from the contact than she was. But she didn't have to bother with the ridiculous waste of time that would have been convincing herself of that. Because he twisted around, reaching for her, pulling her against him, crushing her body to his in a tight hug.

"Thank God, you're ok."

She nodded, returning the desperate squeeze. "Yeah, I am, but I don't know how long I can live without breathing."

He loosened his hold slightly, acknowledging her words without letting her go completely. His face pressed into her hair. "I'm sorry for waking you."

She let herself hold him, knowing from the way his body shook that whatever he'd just suffered through had hurt him. And so what if she enjoyed the way he was holding her too. "It's ok, El. It was just a dream."

"Yeah, I know."

A few minutes later, his shudders had died off and he started yawning, leading her to suggest they go back to sleep. He nodded his agreement, though his arms took their own sweet time releasing her.

And a short few minutes after that, she was calling his name again, trying to get through to her terrified partner who was screaming her name at the top of his lungs.

He wasn't in any hurry at all to release her the second time. He kept shaking, trembling against her as he squeezed her close. She couldn't deny the way he clung to her, the fear that had been in his voice when he'd called her name.

Finally, sheepishly, he pulled back, lying down and opening his arms for her to crawl into. "That's why I've been taking those pills, Liv. I couldn't even get through a couple hours."

She looked up at him, unable to deny the desperate urge to do anything to give him a little bit of peace. Even knowing it was a bad idea, she did it anyway. With a seductive smile, she pulled herself across his body, pushing him flat beneath her. His eyes were wide, curious and interested, right up until she closed hers, letting her lips brush against his with every intent in the world.

He let her kiss him long and hard, only pulling back when they both needed to breathe. "What are you doing?"

She smiled, directing her attention to his throat and letting her mouth run along the skin there. "Since apparently sleeping is out, we're going to have to find some way to pass the time." And just as she'd expected, that was the last of the arguments he offered.

After his shower, he'd come to bed in his boxers, so Olivia was a bit disappointed that she wouldn't get to undress him. Some part of her longed to unwrap him the way she'd almost always seen him, starting with his necktie and shedding layers as they made their way to the bedroom. Of course, the rest of her didn't really give a shit that they'd fast-forwarded to the bedroom part. She let her hands roam freely, allowing herself the indulgence of truly feeling his strength, his bulky muscles beneath his surprisingly soft skin. Her mouth was a bit slower to follow, simply because she was enjoying the way he was letting her taste him. She wasn't sure if she should hurry and taste every bit of his skin or if she would be better off taking her time, tasting what she could reach quite thoroughly.

But Elliot wasn't much for just enjoying the ride, apparently liking control as much in the bedroom as he did in every other aspect of his life. Without giving her a bit of a warning, he rolled them over, burying his face in her neck and taking the opportunity Olivia had. Normally she would have fought for control, she had with every man she'd been with, she had with Elliot over everything else since the day they'd met. It shocked her to realize that she didn't mind relinquishing the control, not to him, not right then.

Because she trusted him.

And there was something ridiculously hot about the way he'd taken it upon himself to protect her against her will.

She didn't mind one bit turning her physical safety over to him because she suspected he would take better care of her than she would herself. And she didn't mind turning over her physical pleasure either. Judging from the way she was trembling and moaning from the lightest contact of his hands outside her shirt, she figured he was going to push her right over the edge of consciousness before they got their clothes off.

His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, pulling at her shirt, finding the waistband of her pants, cupping her breasts, sliding between her legs. She couldn't even be sure she was participating; she was so overwhelmed with the contact so long denied. It took all of her concentration, which Elliot hardly helped her with while his fingers were teasing her clit, just to pull herself up enough to throw her shirt to the floor. Thankfully Elliot took the hint, making quick work of her pants and underwear, leaving her body fully exposed.

For the first time in her life, she didn't feel at all insecure. Olivia was hardly insecure on a regular basis, but there was always something about having her body completely nude, especially as the years went by, that made her wonder if she shouldn't have worked out a little harder or laid off the mayo on her turkey sandwiches. Rather than anxiously waiting for some sign from her lover that she was acceptable, she watched Elliot's face, enjoying the pure pleasure he found in simply looking at her. She knew that he didn't care about those five pounds she kept meaning to lose or that her hips were a bit wider than they had been once or that her skin bore a few scars which served as a reminder of all those close calls she'd faced over the years. He just loved her, loved her body and her mind, loved her for being flawed as much as for being perfect.

He slowly slid back up her body, dropping kisses that seemed to steam against her skin, opening her mouth with his and sliding his tongue along hers. Then his mouth was against her ear, his tongue tracing, his teeth nipping.

"You're fucking perfect, Olivia."

She laughed as she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him tighter against her. "Interesting choice of words."

He snickered, immediately distracting her from the levity of the moment by shifting his hips against hers, letting her feel how very much he wanted her, assuring her that he hadn't been lying to her when he said she was perfect. Although she'd dispute the statement, mostly out of honesty and somewhat out of modesty, he really believed it.

As his mouth left a wet trail from her throat to her collarbone to her chest, finally finding one of her nipples and suckling on it, she tried to concentrate. She wished she knew some of those baseball stats men were so infamously said to mentally review when it seemed things were moving too fast and too slow simultaneously. She had to force herself not to give in, not to throw her head back and let go. For whatever reason, silly romantic notion or not, she wanted him inside of her when she came, at least the first time.

Using her nails as claws, she scratched at him until his attention was once more directed at her face instead of her breasts. "You're a little over dressed, El."

He smirked, perhaps knowing the problem, perhaps completely wrapped up in the moment. "We've got all the time in the world." With a grin, he started kissing a new trail, right past her breasts, down to her naval.

She snagged his ear, twisting and pulling until his face was level with hers again. "Yeah, so we'll get to that later." Entirely unconsciously, she felt her nails digging a likely painful path up his back. "Like I said, you're overdressed."

He leaned in to kiss her, the euphoria of the contact between them delaying any pain response he had. But when she turned her head away, pushing at his throat, he gave in with a laugh. "Damn, you're a little bossy, aren't you?"

It only took a second for him to toss his boxers aside and situate himself between her legs. To Olivia, it felt like he'd been there a million times, their bodies instinctively understanding the other's needs. She folded her legs, pressing her feet against his thighs, encouraging him to finish what she'd started.

Although she'd given over physical control to some degree, no man dominated her mind, despite her body's traitorous attempts, and therefore she felt compelled to get in the last word. Just as she felt his fingers checking to make sure she was as ready as she claimed, knowing she only had seconds before his dick slipped inside her and rendered both of them senseless, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself up to place her mouth against his ear.

"I'm the bossy one. Says the man who kidnapped me at gunpoint."

Her timing was perfect and she wanted to laugh in her victory, feeling his response, the only one he could muster, of his teeth digging into her shoulder. Except the thought was completely erased from her mind as the sensation took over, easily overwhelming her. The feeling was so intense, so breathtaking, so amazing, that she wasn't even sure she could truly comprehend it. Never in her life had she wanted someone for so long, nor had she ever wanted anyone so much, and, had she possessed the capability of thought just then, she might have recognized that was why it felt so unbelievable to experience his body moving with, and inside of, hers.

She used every scrap of thought she could pull together to turn her head, her mouth seeking his, looking for more connection, if that was possible. Luckily, he met her halfway, his kiss still powerful, but obviously less coordinated as he struggled with the same emotions.

One thing did strike her, an annoying, alarming thought, that left her wondering if maybe the desire they'd let simmer between them had burned so hot and so long that it might ruin the actual sex. She wasn't sure she'd even stay conscious through a climax, something she was sure would ruin the enjoyment.

Except, it eventually occurred to her, that the reason it was so fucking awe-inspiring was because every point of contact, every tiny movement, every fucking _everything _felt like she was in the throws of the most powerful orgasm she'd ever had. So it wasn't ruined at all; instead heightened beyond the point of phenomenal. And she knew that never again, at least not with any other man, would making love feel so infuckingcredible. She was actually making love, acting out of honest, deep, true emotion.

And something told her that it would always feel like that with Elliot. As though she could ever consider another man as her partner in anything.

Finally, she closed her eyes, dropped her head back against the pillow, and let the physical take over.

She couldn't say she hadn't passed out. She couldn't say she had. All she knew was that one moment all of her nerve endings seemed to catch fire, exploding in fireworks behind her eyes and through her body, her voice calling out his name as she fell. And when she finished falling, he was there, still on top of her, still inside of her, still shaking from the force of his own climax.

Feeling like a selfish little brat, she found herself back at square one, wishing it hadn't been so damn wonderful, if only so that it could have gone on forever. Of course, she figured that Elliot would be more than happy to have another go round as soon as he recovered. She giggled, lifting her chin to press her lips against his shoulder, wishing they'd tried it sooner, thinking that it might be a viable way to end all their disagreements in the future.

Elliot slowly lifted his head, staring down at her with drowsy, curious eyes. "What the fuck is so funny?"

She ran her fingers down his back, feeling the raised skin she'd scratched open, hoping he wouldn't be too mad about it. "Nothing." She tried to distract him with a kiss, but she knew it wouldn't work, if only because they were too fucking tired just yet. "It's been a while since I felt this good is all." It wasn't that it had been too long since she'd had sex; it was that she couldn't honestly remember ever experiencing the light, airy way she felt. She was pretty sure she was floating.

"Oh, well, in that case." He interrupted himself by leaning down, capturing her mouth again for a long, slow, smoldering kiss that left no question as to whether or not he'd be game to go again. "Knock yourself out, Liv."

Even as she kissed him, she could feel exhaustion creeping in. The adrenaline was waning, reminding her that the man's nightmares hadn't let her get any sleep. She pulled back, wondering if her grin looked anywhere near as stupid as it felt. "Think you can sleep now?"

"Sleep? Yeah. I think I can probably manage some really fucking great dreams too." He reluctantly rolled to his side, pulling her with him so she wound up cuddled against his chest.

"Hey, leave some of the great dreams for reality, ok?"

She felt him chuckle, finding something so delightful in being so very close to him. His lips pressed against the top of her head. And then she was out like a light.


	25. Chapter 24

Part Twenty-Four

She knew she hadn't been asleep long. Not only wasn't she the least bit rested, but she wasn't even confused. All she knew was that Elliot was hard as a rock against the leg she'd thrown over his and she couldn't possibly resist. Grinning like a kid in a candy story, she snuggled up to his sleeping face, dropping kisses and licks and nips along his jaw and neck and chest.

She recognized that he was awake, simply because there seemed to be an attempt at a word buried in the completely unintelligible groan he offered as his fingers sifted through her hair. She wasn't about to let him take over again. Her competitive streak wanted to render him as senseless as he'd rendered her. If only to remind him that they were partners; equals in every sense of the word.

Her hands moved slowly, lightly caressing the skin of his chest and stomach, mapping the territory in advance of her mouth. She kissed her way across his muscles, savoring the chance to finally claim him so intimately. Just as his hands were burning hot on her skin as he rubbed them over her back and shoulders, she had every intention of branding him with her own hands. Her mouth as well.

She was so close to him, in such complete contact, that she felt the moment he realized what she was intending. His whole body tensed and she wondered at that, because she'd never met a man who seemed nervous about it. Her face was level with his abdomen, her fingers dancing along his hips, when she looked up at him. The anticipatory gleam was there in his eyes, visible even in the darkness, but there was anxiety present as well. His hands had stilled, his fingers curled around her neck.

"What?" She would stop if he wanted to, but she couldn't fucking imagine why in god's name he might want to.

He swallowed hard, probably fighting back every instinct in his body. "You don't have to." And there it was, the tension, the nerves, wrapping around his throat and strangling his voice.

Did the bastard really think she was still mad? She hadn't exactly told him otherwise, except she'd thought it was inherent in the mind-blowing sex they'd already had. But it wasn't really the time to discuss it. The tension was coiling in her body as well, although in an entirely different way, a way that no fucking chit chat was going to address adequately.

Instead, she smiled at him, bending to kiss him just below his naval. "I know." She shimmied down, bending her knees to give herself the leverage she needed, silently cheering at the shudder she felt run through him. "I wouldn't have started this if I didn't intend to finish it." She left out the fact that she planned on demanding that he reciprocate.

She licked her lips while one hand grazed his dick, teasing the tender skin, hearing his moan. Her head dropped so that her tongue could follow the path of her fingers, starting at the base of his penis and running ever so slowly up to the tip, making sure she was almost viciously slow as she took him into her mouth.

"Holy fucking god, Olivia!" She barely recognized the shout that tore from his throat, as either words or his voice.

Everything faded away, her whole being focusing on her mouth, on his body, on picking up the signals he couldn't manage to vocalize. He'd made her feel a pleasure that she never had before and she wanted to make sure she did the same. She wanted to make sure he never thought about looking elsewhere. He was hers, whether he knew it or not, because he'd let her blaze her ownership all over him when he let her touch him. She wasn't going to let him get away and the easiest way to do that was to keep him from ever wanting to.

Mostly, her eyes were pressed closed, but when she glanced up, she loved the sight of him. His body was beautiful, all hard lines and soft curves, displaying his strength. His head was thrown back, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, sheer ecstasy twisting his features until it almost looked painful. His hands were fisted in the sheets, gripping and pulling and shaking. She loved the way he looked, the way she was overwhelming him with sensation, the way he turned himself over to her.

Satisfied that she was doing a good job, a damn good job, she closed her eyes, continuing her ministrations. Going down on a man had never been her favorite thing, but she'd learned first to accept it in exchange for the returned favor and then to enjoy making her lover feel so good. But it was an entirely different experience, she realized, to do so with the man she loved. She loved him. She loved his body. There was nothing upsetting or bothersome about taking his dick into her mouth, lavishing the most sensitive part of him with a physical demonstration of her feelings.

She felt him shift, the sudden movement of the sheets he'd been pulling at, but she paid no attention. Her mouth kept moving, her lips maintaining the pressure, her tongue moving up and down and around, knowing from the way his breath was coming in short pants that he wasn't going to be able to hold out much longer.

And then she felt his hands in her hair, not just caressing her which she would have been fine with, but grabbing, fisting around, vying for control of her head. Son of a bitch. She was tempted to bite down, real hard, and remind him that she was in control of the encounter. She didn't want to believe that he was just like those pricks she'd dealt with over the years, the ones who used her hair as a handle, pushing and pulling her mouth like their own personal fuck toy.

She waited for him to push her down, to expect her to fucking swallow him whole, to hell with breathing and choking and the gag reflex.

He pulled her up instead, apparently only capable of speech after her mouth was removed from his dick. "Jesus, Liv, are you trying to kill me?"

She stared at him, her face red from the exertion and the intense anger that had spiked and burned out so quickly. "What?"

He grinned, gaining his faculties while Olivia felt like she was losing hers. "You're making me feel like a damn teenager." His hands shifted, leaving her mussed hair, sliding down over her arms, moving in to her waist. "Come here."

He leaned up as she started to catch on, as she told herself that her confusion was due to the glorious sight that was her tough, angry partner reduced to a quivering, willing slave by her mouth. She didn't mind at all then that she hadn't gotten to finish the job. She kissed him, letting his tongue invade her mouth as though that might even the playing field. And as he was exploring, tonguing her earlobe, she shifted her weight, reaching between them without any warning, positioning him perfectly, and sinking down on him before he knew what she was doing.

"Fuck!" He flopped back down on the bed, his respite from her dominance already a fleeting memory.

She leaned down, lifting her hips up only to drop right back down on him. "Yeah, that's the idea." Laughing, she set a languid pace, the opposite of the one her mouth had been keeping.

He groaned as his hands clenched at her waist, trying, and failing, to find enough leverage to speed things up. "You are trying to fucking kill me, aren't you?"

A wicked smile formed on her mouth as she licked her lips, watching the way his eyes glazed over in the process. "Nah, I'm just trying to show you who's in charge."

His mind, she knew, was entirely occupied elsewhere, due to the fact that her own enjoyment of the activities was causing her to tighten every fucking muscle in her body, heightening her pleasure and teasing him with every flicker. It took time for him to comprehend what she was telling him, but finally a nod showed his agreement.

"Yeah, ok, fine, you win. You're in charge." His hips lifted, trying to offset the terribly slow way her body was moving.

"Can I get that on tape?" Her hands moved from his chest, pressing down on his stomach, forcing him to still.

"Only if you don't fucking kill me first," he groaned, his words turning to a whimper by the time he finished.

She stopped moving, watching as his eyes focused on hers. "I'm sorry, did you want me to stop?"

His mouth fell open as he looked at her, clearly unsure if she was serious or not. "Liv?"

She was laughing as her mouth covered his again, her murmur about catching flies disappearing between his lips. She'd tortured him enough, she decided, toyed with him to the edge. Any longer and it wouldn't be playing; it would just be mean. So she started moving again, working her body against his with a decided purpose, her mouth marking his neck with a wet, red welt that would remind him in the morning.

His body tensed immediately, ready for the release that had been so near when she'd been sucking at him, his hands finding her hips and trying to assist with the business of a fast, steady pace. But one of his hands moved forward, forcing its way between them, finding her clit, massaging her body as she worked his.

She was already on edge, so damn close, the way she pretty much always felt whenever he touched her, regardless of where. The fact that he knew exactly where and how to touch her did not escape her notice either, but she didn't have the time to ponder just how well he knew her. Not with the way he'd managed to seize control from her even while she continued to ride him and set the pace herself.

The world only existed where his fingertips pressed and she had to force herself to keep moving, to reward him for making her feel so good rather than punish him by stopping. But he didn't let up, obviously aware of the way her legs were tensing, cramping from the angle, the way her head fell back, the way her mouth was issuing a continuous, keening moan to the ceiling.

Damn him, she'd wanted to win this one, and in a way she had when he'd accepted her demand for control. But really, she didn't fucking care so much as the sensation exploded, starting where his fingers pressed against her, searing through her muscles, leaving her collapsed on his chest as he thrust a few hard, uncontrolled times into her pliant body and found his own release.

When she found the coordination to lift her head from his chest, she smiled at him. "Now who's trying to kill who?"

He smiled back, a light she'd never seen dancing in his eyes. "I think it's a draw."


	26. Chapter 25

Part Twenty-Five

She was having, hands down, the most absolutely wonderful dream ever. She was lying there, happily at the mercy of Elliot, or more accurately, Elliot's mouth and fingers, whose face was nestled between her legs, his magnificent blue eyes staring up at her, gauging her reaction the same as she'd done for him. His fingers were buried inside her, working magic, and his tongue – sweet Jesus his tongue – was doing something absolutely criminal. Really, he was fucking killing her. She'd never had such a great dream. And as her body began shuddering its release, she realized something was different about this dream. Her brain shut off while her back arched sharply, her thighs involuntarily locking around his head.

She figured it out as she glided back down from the high. Normally, when she experienced that sort of dream, she would have woken up by then. No matter how fantastically hot a dream was, she almost always woke up before she got to enjoy it, before it actually got to the good part. And not only had she felt herself shatter into a million happy, tingly, humming pieces, she could feel his mouth, his fingers, continuing to move The tempo and pressure had changed, a softer touch against her over-sensitized flesh, but they were still going.

It took her breath away, her body already starting to tense again. She was physically able to believe it; she had no choice. Mentally, however, was a bit harder. Even knowing it was real, knowing her eyes were open, knowing that Elliot really was there, doing _that_ to her, she still found it hard to believe. The disorientation of sleep, the weightlessness of such an intense climax, the wonder of actually having sex with her partner, her _partner_, it was all too much.

Way too much.

As another, unexpectedly intense orgasm washed over her suddenly, her head fell back, her emotions finally overwhelmed the physical sensations he caused. There were tears on her face, pouring right past her closed eyelids as though they weren't even there. At first, the strength of her response was so much that she couldn't even understand what she was feeling. She didn't know why she was sobbing. She just was and she didn't want to be.

She felt Elliot's body moving, his form sliding along hers, his dick eagerly awaiting its turn, unaware that his mind had moved to something else entirely. He braced himself above her, one thick arm supporting his frame while the other hand stroked her hair, her face, her cheek.

"What, Liv? What's wrong?"

She shook her head, unable to reply between the sobs, unsure what she would reply even if she could. Experience told her to wipe at her tears, to hide them from Elliot's unrelenting scrutiny, but she couldn't because he did it for her.

He shifted off her, curling one arm under her head, pulling her into his chest. "Shhh, Liv, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." His hand slid along her back, caressing her in a protective rather than seductive fashion, although her body, which as of late was entirely disjointed from her head, couldn't find a difference between the two. Elliot's face was pressed against the side of hers, his mouth near her ear. "I didn't mean to hurt you, baby. I'm sorry."

It was hearing his voice crack, knowing he was hurting because he thought he'd hurt her that broke through her crying fit. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hugging him to her, shaking her head again.

"No, no, El, it's ok." She sniffled, suddenly feeling silly for having been so completely consumed by her feelings as to burst out crying in the middle of absolutely amazing sex. She'd never cried during sex before, though after, locked in the bathroom or a cab or back in her own bed, was an entirely different story. She'd always thought that women who cried from the experience of fucking someone were simply too immature to be having sex in the first place. She'd always thought the ridiculously weak gesture was for characters in romance novels. She'd never expected that she'd be reduced to tears at the idea of being so connected to someone.

But she'd always been close to Elliot, in a way she'd never quite understood. And so, finding a physical link, letting herself connect to him in the most intimate way possible, was a natural outgrowth of their relationship. It was just a shock to her system to realize how strong her feelings for him were, to feel the powerful way her body responded to him, to know her mind and body were on the same page for once.

He pulled back slightly, continuing to hold her as he met her eyes. "What's the matter?"

She tried to laugh it off, smiling and rolling her eyes, embarrassment stinging even though she had no reason to be ashamed in front of him. Not after what they'd done all night. "What? You've never had a woman start bawling on you before?"

He held her eyes, searching, before he finally shook his head. "No, can't say that I have."

"Good." And then she did smile, superiority welling up in her for having felt a connection to him that even Kathy never had. "Cause I can't say that I've ever actually started bawling during sex before."

Despite her smile, Elliot didn't seem to know what to make of her words. "So, uh, is that a good thing?"

Shifting her legs to rub his erection, reminding him of what he'd been doing, she nodded. "Yeah."

His eyes slid closed, a guttural groan spilling from his lips. But he sucked in a breath, moving himself over to escape the contact, forcing control back into his body. "Are you sure?"

Her hips chased his, putting their lower bodies back in contact. "By all means, carry on." She punctuated her sentence by hooking one leg over his hip and realigning them. "Or do I need to convince you?"

Visibly shaking, he lowered her to the bed, leaning down over her and brushing his lips across hers. "I meant it when I said I loved you, you know."

"I know." She caught his lips, not allowing him to get away without a searing kiss.

Concerned as he was, he was still determined to undermine her authority. She barely realized he was moving until she felt his fingers, his arm stretched around her leg, pulling it high on his waist, his fingertips prodding, testing, teasing. She knew he'd find what he hoped to, the wetness he'd caused still seeming to pour forth, her body amply prepared to accept his again.

In fact, she wasn't sure there would ever be a time when she wasn't, since the thought of him was enough to release a torrent from her body.

It was no time at all before he pressed himself against her entrance, pausing just long enough to let her know he was ready. By the time she'd moved her other leg around him, hooking her ankles together, he was all the way inside her, filling every bit of her, his size exactly enough to stretch her pleasantly and put pressure on all the right spots. He was made to be inside her, she decided, and she was meant to surround him.

Just like every time it mattered, they worked together perfectly, meaningless squabbles aside, their true selves open and bare and completely accepting of one another.

And just like every time he'd touched her that night, her nerve endings got one fuck of a workout, burning and melting and freezing and floating and falling and exploding in miraculous pleasure so intense it almost hurt. They snuggled up afterward, once more too spent physically to do anything but collapse together, his body warm and slick with sweat spooning behind hers.

She awoke not too long after, still toasty and content in Elliot's not quite uncomfortably heavy arms. What had woken her, she realized, hadn't yet woken him. His apparently perpetually erect dick was poking her in the ass. He was some kind of a medical marvel, she decided. He needed to be studied. And she was more than happy to be the one to study him.

She turned her head, her lips grazing his temple. "El?"

"Hmmmph." Whatever he meant to say was muffled entirely by her throat, since he didn't bother to lift his head when he spoke.

Since she wasn't sure she'd get anything helpful out of him with words, she changed tactics. She pressed back against him, wiggling her butt the slightest bit, enticing him. It worked like a charm, his hand clamping down on her waist, pulling her back as he pushed forward.

He lifted his head, enough to slide his lips across her neck and shoulder. "Fuck, Liv, you really are going to kill me with this shit."

"Me? You stared this round!" Even as she scoffed, she leaned her head back, grazing his cheek with her mouth.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest where it pressed against her back. "How did I start this? I was trying to sleep!"

She shifted her hips, his dick poking harder as she teased. "You woke me, El, I assure you." Hearing his groan at her movements, she laughed, but the sound cut off abruptly when his hand released her waist in favor of cupping her breast.

Fondling first one, then the other, playing with her nipples until they formed taut peaks, Elliot had her squirming in less than a minute. She tried to maintain active participation, pushing herself up with her legs until his dick slipped between her thighs. He wasn't even inside her yet, but she already felt it building, the knowledge that he was about to bring her to a mind-blowing climax enough to start the physical process.

He wasn't about to let her distract him, although his hand did falter a bit as he nestled himself against her center. His whole body shifted, the arm he had under her moving around until that hand could caress her breasts. His other hand moved downward, agonizingly slow as it approached the junction of her legs.

She clenched her teeth, closed her eyes, and waited, basking in the sensation as his fingers combed through her curls, pushed between her thighs, and plunged into the most sensitive place on her body. She couldn't tell if she was moaning or talking or screaming. There were just uncontrollable sounds coming out of her mouth as his fingers danced along her clit. She knew exactly what he meant about her trying to kill him; she wasn't sure how much pleasure she could endure until her body simply stopped being able to process anymore.

Unlike the previous times, he gave her no warning, one hand kneading her breasts and gently tweaking her nipples, the other massaging her cliit until she felt like her heart would stop, and then suddenly, he penetrated her, his dick pushing hand and fast, deeper into her body than he had previously, spreading her body absolutely as far as it would go, easing the momentary flash of pain with the ministrations of his talented hands.

She was definitely screaming then, she knew it, but she couldn't stop it. She was going to die from the amazing way he was plying her body. She could only cry out, feeling everything and nothing at the same time.

He'd learned from her already, knew how she'd react to him, anticipated how wet and ready she would be for him, expecting her cooperation. He moved faster, harder, fucking her in a more animalistic way than he had before, making her feel as much wonder while making it a different experience altogether.

He was in control, completely, her body pliant and willing and helpless, as he pleased them both. The only thing she could do was reach behind her with one hand, digging her nails into his skin, not sure if she meant encourage or discourage him, pinching him when he slowed, clawing him when he sped up. She lay there, limp from the overload, letting him rip a few more mind-fucking orgasms from her before he came again, filling her body again.

She was done for the night, she knew it, she couldn't hold her head up, or respond to her lover's words. She closed her eyes, slipping back to sleep while her body was still buzzing with Elliot's body still inside hers.

His voice was soft, gentle, belying the roughness he'd displayed that last time, as his lips pressed kisses along her cheek, neck, and shoulder. "Good night, baby, get some sleep."


	27. Chapter 26

Part Twenty-Six

Morning came very, very late. Well, actually, she realized, morning had come right on time, but she and El were so fucking exhausted that they slept through a good portion of it. Not that she minded in the least. Not when oversleeping meant waking up with a big yawn and deliciously aching muscles and an intoxicatingly gorgeous man snuggling up behind her. She stretched and rolled over, wishing she had the energy to kiss him awake and resume their activities.

But when she looked up at him, she found his eyes were open, clear blue pools watching her silently. She smiled, testing the waters, hoping she'd been right about the pills, praying he hadn't taken one when she wasn't looking.

He grinned back at her, his hands moving to pull her tight against his chest. "Please tell me I didn't forget anything else."

Her heart seemed to skip a beat as she thought, feared, that his memory lapses might have had nothing to do with the sleeping pills.

But he winked at her, his fingers playing along her backbone. "I remember fucking you senseless."

She giggled, glad she wasn't going to have to explain all they'd done to someone who didn't remember doing it. "How many times?"

"More than I can count." He leaned toward her, pressing his lips to hers softly, a more affectionate kiss than a prelude to anything else.

"Yeah, that sounds about right." She kissed him a second time, allowed him to kiss her a third time, and then instigated a fourth, more seductive kiss. It took a lot of energy to pull herself away. "As tempted as I am, El, I'm not sure either one of us will survive it."

"Right. We need food first." He grinned, his arms not releasing her. "Think someone will deliver out here?"

"If not, don't look at me." She yawned and stretched, her muscles complaining their happy reminder of the night's activities. The only really uncomfortable part of her was the sticky remnants of their love making between her thighs. "I think I'm going to take a shower."

Elliot groaned. "I guess that means I'm making breakfast."

"Unless you want to starve."

"And I should probably think about shoveling out the van."

Just thinking about it made her shiver, snuggling further into his arms. "Why? Are we going somewhere?"

The carefree light in his eyes disappeared as he sat up. "I don't like the idea of not being able to get out of here. In case that bastard shows up."

Shivering from both the idea and the loss of his body heat, Olivia got up, demurely tucking the sheet around herself, feeling stupid at the thought that there was any modesty left after how thoroughly they'd explored one another. Still, her hands dug into the cotton sheet, wishing it were thicker to dispel the chill of the thought of that night, those cold blue eyes, the asshole who'd tried so hard, and nearly succeeded, in taking Elliot away from her. The sex had distracted her from it, from the reason why they were there. She infinitely preferred the safe, secure bubble they'd been enveloped in while in bed together.

Elliot knew her, he always had, recognizing the mod shift in his partner. He stood up, not bothering with any nod to modesty, crossing around the bed to put his hands on her shoulders. "Liv, I'm not going to let him get to you. I swear to you."

She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I know." She shrugged, feeling his hands fall from her shoulders and wishing that she hadn't moved at all. "I guess I'm not used to being the victim, you know?"

"You're not a victim. Some prick attacked you, but we're going to get him and I'm going to keep you safe." His hands moved again, reaching out to slide across her cheeks. "Something bad happened to you, Liv, but it's not going to define you. You're not a victim. Remember that."

Nodding, she turned away. She didn't want to think about the depth of emotion in his words. She didn't want to think about the truth either because of the ramifications it would have on her partner. Not only had he broken quite a few laws to protect her, but she knew she'd probably devastated him by refusing to believe him.

She took two steps toward the door before she thought about the loving way he'd practically worshiped her body combined with how much he'd sacrificed for her safety and she couldn't leave him without saying anything. Turning back, she smiled at him as he pulled his boxers over his hips. "Thank you, El, that really means a lot."

He paused long enough to offer her a nod, but he didn't say anything else. He headed into the living room, where she'd last seen his bag. She waited at the door, watching as he dressed, wondering what was wrong, knowing she'd done something stupid. Relationships weren't her forte. Luckily, most of the time, she just didn't care enough that she'd hurt someone. It served a good purpose then, she didn't care so she didn't need to know how to fix it. But with Elliot, she did care. And she'd never figured out how to fix things with him because, she realized with a sudden shock, he'd never let her see so blatantly that she'd fucked something up, certainly not by hurting his feelings.

Wincing, she hurried through the living room and ducked into the bathroom. As irritated as she was with herself, she was pissed off at him too. No, she didn't have any fucking clue how to deal with him when he got moody, no more of an idea than she ever had, it was a shortcoming she'd have to come to terms with. But he was the one who'd changed the rules, who'd turned everything upside down, so he should have been expecting her to make a few missteps along the way.

As soon as she closed the bathroom door, she knew she needed to calm down. She'd made the decision to trust him and she felt at peace with that decision. Elliot had always been moody and pissy, especially with her. He wasn't acting any different from how he'd always been with her. He'd been sweet and kind and giving as a lover, displaying a softer side that she'd never seen, revealing the way he really felt for her, assuring her his declaration of love had been true.

Which allowed her to realize exactly what the problem was. He'd said he loved her. He'd said it twice.

And she hadn't said a damn thing to let him know that she loved him. No wonder he'd been hurt.

She opened the door, wanting to correct her mistake before it had the chance to fester and hurt him more. He was at the front door, bundled up, holding the shovel in his hand. She was still wrapped in the sheet, already ice cold from the air he was letting in.

"El, can you wait a minute?"

He met her eyes for a moment, just long enough for her to see that his walls were back up. "It snowed again during the night, so I've got a lot to clear out."

She wanted to be angry herself, pissed off that all the closeness they'd found during the night could be erased so quickly and unintentionally, but she couldn't say that she would have been willing to listen to him if the situation had been reversed. So rather than rolling her eyes and slamming the door behind her like she would have, she swallowed her own irritation with his behavior and nodded.

"Ok, we'll talk when you come back in."

He stared at her, searching her eyes to see what she really meant that she wasn't saying. Unable to find what wasn't there, he shrugged. "Whatever." And then he was the one to slam the door.

She stepped back into the bathroom, glancing between the tiny shower stall and the giant Jacuzzi tub, making her decision instantly. Not only was a nice, warm bath the best way to relax her aching muscles, but it would help relax the tension gathering in her shoulders. While the tub was filling with steaming water, she rolled her head around, trying to ease the tension, trying to redirect her attention to the pleasant ache of her legs.

Sitting on the edge of the tub, she watched the water, waiting for it to get deep enough to slip into. She scratched idly at her calf, appalled at the sharp points of hair that her hand found. She shaved every day, but she hadn't had the opportunity since Elliot had carted her off to the wilderness. Elliot hadn't said a word about the gross state of her legs, and he'd certainly gotten a good feel of them, but she was mortified. His razor was lying next to the sink and she figured he wouldn't mind if she borrowed it. Especially not if he got to inspect the difference.

And she hoped he would – as soon as they talked.

She snagged his razor and the soap he left in the shower before she lowered herself into the steaming water. She made an attempt to actually wash herself, getting as far as soaping up the washcloth before she decided it was too much work. Instead, she lay back, resting her head against the back of the tub and luxuriating in the oversized length that allowed her to submerge both her shoulders and her legs at the same time.

The heat of the water surrounding her reminded her of Elliot's protective embrace, lulling her to sleep so she could replenish enough energy to curl up with the real thing. As her eyes drifted closed, she thought about shaving, eventually deciding she was too tired to care.

The water was just starting to cool when she heard Elliot's voice outside the door. "Hey, Liv? I'm going to start breakfast."

She wondered how he'd gotten the van all shoveled out already, but she was more concerned with the water and spent her energy working the hot knob with her toes. The water was infused with warmth once again and her attention turned to the razor. She curled her fingers around the green plastic handle, knowing she wanted to have soft, smooth, freshly shaved legs for the next time Elliot felt them, but she was too comfortable just then to worry much about it. As she slipped back to sleep, she didn't even register when the razor slipped from her fingers.

She heard him knocking again, but she was too comfortable to really notice.

She couldn't ignore it though when she heard his shout and the noise of him crashing through the door.

"Oh my god, Olivia!"

She didn't even have time to wake up fully before he was there, jumping in the tub, sending cascades of water spilling over the side.

"Olivia! No!" His arms were around her, pulling her up, his knees on either side of her hips. "Jesus, Olivia, what did you do!"

She pushed against his chest, trying to get a hold on his shirt, but she realized he wasn't wearing one. Just his soaked jeans, unconcerned with himself as he yanked her out of the water. "El, what-"

The panic on his face seeped through her foggy mental state, as did the way he was trying to lift her out of the tub while he was still kneeling in it.

"Jesus, Olivia, no, please, god no!"

She tried to grab at him, his neck, his face, to get him to look her in the eye. "El, stop!"

He dropped her body back into the water, reaching for her hands, pulling her wrists up to his face. "Liv?" He didn't find what he was looking for, his eyes finally turning to hers, full of tears.

"El, what's wrong?" The last of the sleep was gone, but the confusion remained. Very little would explain her half dressed partner climbing in the tub with her. Had he been entirely undressed and considerably less panicked, she could have understood him joining her, especially given how they'd spent the night. But half dressed and panicking, no, she was at a loss.

His chest was heaving as he gulped breath down, his whole body seeming to deflate, his head hanging as his tears continued to pour out.

"El? What? Tell me." She leaned toward him, all traces of modesty aside as she moved to cup his cheeks. But when she moved her hand, she heard the razor clatter to the floor, pushed off the edge of the tub. And then she realized what he'd thought when she'd been asleep and unresponsive, her hand sitting next to the razor she hadn't bothered to use.

"Oh, god, El, no, I didn't- I wouldn't- I-" She choked up before she could happen upon a coherent thought. Instead she reached for him again, her arms sliding around his shoulders, pulling him to her, feeling him offer no resistance. He sobbed into her skin, his face pressed into her shoulder, his tears sliding into the water. Her hand rested on the back of his head, trying to soothe him, wanting to reassure him, needing to comfort him. "Shhh, El, it's ok. I'm ok."

His arms wound around her waist, lifting her top half once again. "Oh, god, I," Elliot sniffled, "I thought it was too late. I thought you- oh, god, Liv, I'll take you home. I'll take you home if you're that scared, baby, please just don't hurt yourself, please."

She squeezed him tighter, thinking there had to be a way to hold him close enough to convince him otherwise. "I wasn't going to, El, I wouldn't do that, not to either of us."

His hand reached up, smoothing across her hair, fingering the ends that had gotten wet while she napped. "You scared me." His voice was soft, but his words, his honesty, screamed in her ear. He had opened himself up to her in a way he never had before.

And she hated that she'd hurt him, even unintentionally.

So she pulled back, holding his face to force his eyes to her. "Stop, it's ok." She waited, making sure her words would be heard. "I know you didn't hurt me. I know it wasn't you." She stopped again, taking a breath, realizing the absolute truth of what she was saying. "I believe you, El. I believe you."

He nodded, instinctively agreeing with her. But then his head stopped moving, his mouth falling open, his eyes searching hers. "You do?" He started to smile, only to have it falter. "Really? You really believe me?"

She smiled, nodding, proud of herself for having won his love, proud that she had the power to make him so happy. And then the words she had forgotten to tell him were there, impossible for her to not say. "I love you."


	28. Chapter 27

Part Twenty-Seven

His mouth was on hers again, open and hungry and still searching for proof that his fears hadn't been realized. She couldn't imagine what he'd been through in those moments, seeing her there, thinking the worst. But she could imagine how she'd feel if the situation had been reversed. Actually, she couldn't imagine that either. The thought alone hurt so bad she feared it might kill her.

She returned his kiss, clawing at his back, tasting his mouth, trying to force more contact between them. It didn't matter if she was tired, not if he needed her. Not if he was hurting because of something he'd thought she'd done.

But rather than increasing in intensity and trying to move things along, he started to pull back, holding her tightly, but easing away from kissing her. She tried to chase him. They spent years miscommunicating and the previous night had been so perfect; she knew they were better off physically explaining themselves.

Yet he continued to resist. "No, Liv, wait." He loosened his hold on her, his hands moving from her back to her sides to her face. His hands were gentle, but his words were firm. "I need to take you home." He could barely meet her eyes as he searched around for something that might hold his attention for a whole millisecond.

There was something certain and final and crushing about his words. She grabbed at his arms, her nails digging in to keep him from turning away. "El, why?"

He held her eyes, revealing more to her the longer he stared. He was still hurting, still unsure, still guilt-ridden. His head started to shake as though willing away the tears she knew were coming. "I wasn't thinking when I grabbed you, Liv. I just wanted to keep you safe and I never thought this-" He stopped speaking, his breath coming in pants as he fought to keep his tears at bay. "It was a mistake. I didn't know what else to do, but I never should have done this."

And then he was gone, pulling himself out of the water, pushing himself toward the door, a wet trail across the bathroom the only evidence that he'd ever been there at all.

The relaxation and rest she'd sought in the bath were completely undone. Climbing out of the tepid water, she wrapped a towel around her and chased after him. She didn't have to go far, finding him in the living room, shoving things in his bag.

"El, what are you doing?" It was bad enough that he'd thought she'd ever resort to attempting suicide. She couldn't fucking guess what made him think she'd rather be back in the city with some fucking psycho after her.

He shook his head rather than answer, kicking the flannel blanket Olivia had come to love simply for the memories she'd attached to it, moving into the kitchen and throwing more things around.

She really hated it when he shut down on her. And she knew he was headed there, into the hideous depths of his fury and self-loathing that made him hard and mean and violent. She hated even more that she'd prompted it, even without knowing how. Worse than just knowing she'd caused it somehow was the fact that, although she'd learned long ago to recognize the behavior, she still didn't have the first fucking clue what to do with him when he got like that.

She followed him, chilly and feeling quite stupid for wearing only a towel, but she was facing Elliot, who'd pulled a shirt over his head without drying off first. The thin cotton served no purpose besides absorbing some of the water off his skin and jeans, leaving nothing to the imagination. But rather than admire the view and the body she'd so recently discovered she had the right to touch, she tried to catch his eyes.

"Stop! Elliot, talk to me. What's going on?" As if her attire didn't attest to her level of distress, her tremulous voice certainly should have.

His eyes kept darting around, still red rimmed from his tears, his face contorting as he tried to hold back more. Finally, though, he stopped searching for an escape, his mouth open to let out a breath that almost sounded like a sob, his eyes coming to rest on hers. "I never meant to hurt you, Olivia. I want you to know that."

"I do know that. Why do you think you hurt me?" She was panicking, her own demons telling her that he desperately wanted out of the physical relationship she'd pursued and instigated.

His hands moved to her face once again, his eyes filling with longing as he stroked her cheeks. "I scared you. I dragged you here against your will. I threatened you. I overpowered you." He sniffled, looking away as he pulled himself together once again. "You were no more able to consent last night than if you'd been drunk, Liv, don't you see that? You're terrified that I'm going to hurt you, worse than I already have, and you're doing whatever you think you think will keep me from hurting you."

Oh for the love of fucking god. She almost slapped him right across the face. "I don't have fucking Stockholm Syndrome, Elliot. And I didn't do a damn thing last night I haven't wanted to do for years."

He was shaking his head, disagreeing with her, while she knew he hadn't heard a single word. He was backing up, abandoning the things in the kitchen, running away from her. "Fuck, Liv, might as well as a few more fucking charges, right? I'll be in prison for the next twenty-five years. I fucking deserve it." He grabbed his bag and threw it by the door before he headed toward the bedroom.

By the time she followed him across the room, he'd already shoved most of her stuff into her bag. She grabbed at his hands. "Damn it, Elliot, stop it. How is getting yourself arrested going to help me in the slightest bit?"

He stopped his frantic movements, one of the shirts he'd just pushed into the bag popping back out. She thought she'd gotten through to him, but only until he opened his mouth. "You should get dressed first. I'll warm up the van."

She moved to block his path, knowing that for the moment at least, he was too afraid to dare touching her, even if it was just to move her out of his way. "Elliot, don't you dare set foot out in the god damned snow until you're in dry clothes."

His eyes narrowed as he stared at her, his level of upset precluding normal thought processes. Eventually he looked down, noticing his wet clothes for the first time. His face moved back level with hers, but he said nothing.

The adrenaline was wearing off, she recognized it in the way his body trembled slightly. But having Elliot tired and despondent wasn't much better than Elliot hysterical and in a flurry of activity.

She put her hands on his shoulders, trying to keep him from locking back inside his walls. "How about we both get dressed and then we can sit down and talk about what to do?"

He swallowed, shivered, and remained silent.

"Please? There's still someone out there who tried to rape me and you're in a whole shitload of trouble, so there's no pressing need for us to get back to the city right this second, right?" She held his eyes, wondering if he was in shock, wondering if it was even possible for him to be in shock simply from firmly believing he was an asshole. She tried to force a smile, refusing to allow herself the comfort of hugging him only because it wouldn't be comforting to him under the circumstances. "We get dressed and then talk? Deal?"

He nodded slowly, probably too afraid of hurting her to disagree. As novel as the idea of a docile Elliot was, she hated it. She much preferred crazy, irate Elliot. Docile Elliot meant something was very, very wrong. But she knew that he would do as he said and it gave her enough time to get dressed.

When she returned to the living room, Elliot was sitting on the couch, donning dry clothes and slightly less pale skin. She took the time to hang his wet clothes over the towel rack along with her towel and drain the tub. Just in case Elliot demanded to go back to the city, she didn't want to leave Cragen's cabin in such a hideous state.

Finally, she joined Elliot on the couch, turning toward him and pulling her feet up under her. He hadn't said a word, but she could tell he was already more like himself. He'd needed a minute to think, to calm down, and she felt fortunate for having hit on the right thing to do.

He wasn't breaking the silence though, and continued to stubbornly avoid her eyes. She sighed and decided she was going to have to take over the driver's seat, since Elliot clearly wasn't about to.

"Ok, El, so why do you want to go home so much?"

He kept his stare directed at the burned out fire, working his bottom lip between his teeth, his brow furrowing as he tried to come up with an answer. "I never should have brought you up here." He winced, apparently rethinking his words as soon as he said them, and then dared a quick glance in her direction. "I can't tell you how sorry I am for," his voice stopped as the emotions reared up again.

But she didn't wait for him to get control of them again. The last thing she wanted was to listen to him apologize over and over until she really did go insane and beg for mercy. "Jesus, Elliot, I'm fine. Look at me." She scooted over, touching his shoulder, trying to turn him to face her.

He did look at her then, his pain and fear and sadness nearly strangling her. He was beating himself up over hurting her, for putting her in a position where he honestly thought she'd been willing to trade sex for her safety. She wanted to shake him and point out that his remorse and horror for something he hadn't done was exactly how she knew he wasn't the kind of man who could ever do so in the first place.

And it only served to make her feel guilty for ever having doubted him. She'd been so quick to judge him, to convict him, to turn on him. The pain of realizing how horrible she'd been to him felt like a knife in her chest and she had to struggle to breathe for a moment before she realized it was really in her head.

She reached for his face, her fingers crossing over his stubble, pressing into his cheek until he turned to look at her. "Elliot, please, we've both made some mistakes here, and I did things that I know were absolutely despicable, but making love to you last night wasn't one of them."

She watched as he tried to keep looking at her, though he eventually turned away as more tears spilled down his face.

"Maybe kidnapping me wasn't the most brilliant idea you've ever had, but I understand it, El. I know your hands were tied. I helped tie them. You were right that I wasn't going to listen to you no matter what you did. You were trying to protect me and I can't fault you for that."

Slowly he looked back at her, unashamed of the tears that kept falling. "So what changed? You never would have listened to me. You thought I was trying to rape you. So why did you decide to sleep with me?"

It was a hard question to answer. Because she'd been so sure of his guilt. Because she'd become so sure of his innocence. Because nothing he'd done had been any different in between.

"I thought about it, I guess. I can't even really explain it, El. But I'm not upset about changing my mind and trusting you." She knew she couldn't keep his stare and so reached for his hand, gripping it in both of hers. "I'm pissed off at myself for ever doubting you. I don't know how I can ever make that up to you. I don't need you making it worse by thinking that you've hurt me."

He nodded, although she couldn't be sure he was listening to her. His gaze was once again fixed on the charred remains of the fire, the faraway look in his eyes revealing that he didn't even see what was left of the heat that had warmed them.

His hand moved out from hers, pausing to brush against her wrist as he pulled away. "I should have stopped you last night. I should have realized you weren't in a position to make that kind of decision."

She grabbed his arm, her nails digging through the fabric of his shirt. "Fuck, Elliot, why won't you listen to me? You woke up screaming for me all fucking night! How can I possibly think you would ever hurt me when you're so god damn scared of something happening to me?"

And that was crux of the matter, after all. The icing on the cake. The last thing she'd needed to see before she knew that it had been she, and she alone, who'd been so very wrong.

He turned toward her suddenly, unexpectedly, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek. "Until we're back at home, until you know, really know, until you see the fucking son of a bitch who really tried to hurt you in jail, I can't believe that any of this is real." He took in a breath, his eyes displaying so much anguish it turned her stomach. "You really fucking believe I didn't do anything wrong here, Olivia, but I did. And you're trying to make it be ok, but it's not and it never will be. I have to take you home. Then when you're safe, when you're really safe, on your own fucking terms, then you can think about how you really feel." His thumb brushed across her cheek, so softly, so gently, that she knew he wasn't going to touch her again. "And I won't fight any charges you bring. I hurt you. I kidnapped you, Olivia. You're my fucking prisoner and you're trying to make me feel better. Don't you see that?"

She shook her head, reaching for the hand he withdrew, wanting the contact he was denying her. "No, Elliot, that's not true."

He stood up, pulling his coat from the back of the couch. "Yes, it is." Her heart nearly stopped in her chest when he pulled her gun from his pocket and motioned at the door. "Get your stuff. We're leaving."

Standing, shaking, she looked at him, at the gun he was brandishing at her. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I have to." His emotions were gone that fast, once again locked up tight inside him, his face back to the blank mask he'd worn the night he'd grabbed her. "Don't make me cuff you again."

Slowly, she moved toward the bedroom, knowing he wasn't kidding, hating that she'd failed entirely to earn his trust, wondering if he'd ever trust her again.


	29. Chapter 28

Part Twenty-Eight

He followed her as she went back in the bedroom, holding the gun and his steely glare on her while she sat down on the bed to pull on her boots. She wanted to kill him. She couldn't believe he was ruining what they'd just found. She couldn't believe he was cheapening what they'd done.

And she couldn't blame him for thinking it because she had tried to do exactly that the night they'd gotten there.

With her boots on and tied, she stood up, finished Elliot's work of shoving her clothes in her bag and zipping it shut. She turned around, looking at him. "You don't have to do this, El."

"The fuck I don't." He stepped back, out of the doorway, and nodded toward the living room. "Come on, get your coat."

She nodded, trying to think of how she could get through to him. As she moved past him, she stopped, holding his eyes. "Did you forget there's someone back in the city who wants to hurt me? Really hurt me? Not someone who thinks he hurt me and didn't, but someone who actually tried and nearly did and will probably try again?"

He looked away, telling Olivia that he hadn't really thought about that. He'd been too busy guilt-tripping himself. "Get your coat."

Pissed off at him for being obstinate, she did as instructed, putting on her coat and zipping it up. "How are you going to feel if that bastard comes back and attacks me?" The thought alone sent a shiver through her. Despite saying it, she hadn't really thought about it herself. She looked up from her pockets where she was searching for her gloves, only to discover that Elliot was gone.

He reappeared a moment later, the shiny steel of the handcuffs dangling from his fingers. "Can't forget these, can we?"

She resisted, just for the sake of it, when he grabbed her wrist. She concentrated on catching his eyes. "What if he rapes me, Elliot? Or kills me?"

He stopped moving, his hand gripping one of hers, his other hand just about to slap the cuff around it. He was hesitating. He'd never hesitated. She thought it was a good sign.

With her free hand, she reached for his chin, pulling his face up even with hers. "Don't do this. Don't take me back there where I'm not safe."

And then his eyes did meet hers, cold and hard and unrelenting. "You're hardly safe here."

She leaned into him, thinking the physical contact had been what had caused his hesitation, trying to prolong having a bit of control over him. "I've never been safer, El. I know that. You know that."

He winced, showing a painfully short and unhelpful bit of feeling. "More damage has been done to you in these last three days than you know. That's what I know."

She shook her head, bringing her hands to his waist. "I know you."

And then something snapped, something dark and dangerous in him. His hands moved quickly, so quickly she didn't know what was happening. One minute she was holding onto him. The next, her hands were locked behind her. His hands were on her coat, shoving her tripping backwards until the small of her back pressed against the kitchen counter.

He was leaning over her, his face, his eyes, full of fury and anger and hatred. "You like this? You want it rough?" His whole body pressed against her and she knew what he was trying.

She wasn't about to fall for it, so she turned away, trying to look bored. "I know you don't, so it's pointless to try and scare me."

He grabbed her arm, pulling her forward suddenly, shoving her toward the couch instead. "You don't know shit about what I like! You know what I did. You know I overpowered you and kidnapped you and drugged you and handcuffed you to a damn bed! You went to Cragen with evidence that I tried to rape you. What the fuck do you know about me besides that I'm holding you hostage?"

She tried to continue to look bored, but it was getting harder. Especially when he shoved her down, opting for the floor instead of the couch and moving to straddle her. Her hands were pinned behind her, the cuffs digging mercilessly into her back. And Elliot was unzipping her coat, throwing it open before leaning down into her face.

"Stop it, Elliot." She squirmed, trying to move her hands, trying to ignore that he was moving his along her sides.

"Oh, come on, Liv, either you like it or you don't." He was laughing, his eyes dancing like he'd proved some fucking point. "I thought you knew me so well, huh?" His arms moved to brace his weight over her, his face coming closer to hers. "Then you should know this is how I really want it."

She screamed, mostly out of frustration for wanting to slap him right across his obnoxious, grinning face. "The fuck you do." And she knew it was true, really, because there he was, pinning her helplessly to the ground and she could feel all too well that he wasn't the least bit interested in pursuing something sexual. He was just trying to prove a point.

But she wasn't about to let him prove it. She was pissed off at him too. So she stared up at him, knowing his eyes were searching hers for a plea for mercy, mercy which he would be all too happy to give her. Instead she smirked at him, knowing that she really hadn't ever been in less danger of a man forcing himself on her in her entire life. "Go ahead."

With an angry growl, Elliot was off her in a flash, roughly pulling her to her feet, causing more pain in her arms unlocking the cuffs than he had putting them on her. "You're a sick fuck. And it's all my fault."

She forced out a laugh, though she wasn't even the least bit amused. "Don't ever play poker, El. Seriously, you can't bluff."

And then he really was pissed off, she knew it, as he grabbed both of their bags and shoved her toward the van. "Don't go fucking running off this time. I might leave you here."

"Uh huh. Sure, cause you're so unconcerned with my welfare." She didn't give him the benefit of making a sound when he pushed her into the van.

"Just sit the fuck in your seat or I will put you in the back."

She watched as he climbed behind the wheel, tossing their bags carelessly over the seat. "Are you just going to leave Cragen's cabin like that? How fucking mad do you think he'll be?"

He glared at her. "Probably a little less mad than he'll be at me for kidnapping my partner, but maybe I'm wrong." He jerked the transmission lever into reverse and started the van rolling down the path he'd shoveled.

She glared right back. "Probably not, since he wanted you to bring me up here to keep me safe ten years ago."

Elliot threw the van back into park so fast she had to catch herself on the dashboard. "Stay here." And then he was stomping, it was clear from the amount of snow he was kicking up, back into the cabin.

He reappeared a few minutes later, a large bag of trash in his hand containing all the stuff from the kitchen. He stopped to throw it in the back door of the van before he went stomping back around the cabin. She knew he was shutting off the generator and she hated it. She'd kind of hoped that he'd take her in and rethink leaving if it meant cleaning up.

He went back in the front door, and she could imagine how he was setting the instructions back the way he'd found them. It made her long for that freezing cold night when he'd snuggled with her in front of the fire. Her anger was freshly renewed at him for ruining it when he closed the door behind him, juggling a can of soda and the fake rock he was putting the key in.

He finally got back in the van, his nose red from the cold. "Happy?"

She glared at him. "Oh, yeah, taking me back to be raped and murdered. I'm floored. Overjoyed. Ecstatic. Really."

He offered the soda to her, sitting it in the cup holder when she didn't take it immediately. Then he returned to backing the van the rest of the way to the street.

She was still furious, but she realized he wasn't going to listen to her snippy remarks. Reaching for his arm, she looked at him, deadly serious. "Please, El. Don't take me home yet. Not until it's safe."

He held her eyes for a long time, swallowing hard and looking away. "I can't, Liv. I can't do this to you. Maybe you'll understand that someday." He nodded at the soda. "If you don't drink that, I will, and it's the last you're going to get until we get home."

Out of fear that he wasn't joking and thirst from having not eaten or drank anything in almost twenty-four hours, she mutely reached for the can. He wasn't going to listen to her anyway. She sipped at the drink, staring at the beautiful scenery as it faded away to typical highway images. Soon enough, her head was heavy and she felt her eyes slipping closed.

But more than just sleepy, she felt foggy.

With all of her strength, she turned to look at Elliot. He took the can out of her hand and set it back in the cup holder. Then he winked at her.

"Night, Liv."

She looked at the can, realizing what he'd done, and wishing she'd seen it coming. "You bastard."

She could barely pull her eyes back to look at his profile as he replied. "You're easier to deal with when you're unconscious."

And before she could actually comprehend the words, her eyes closed in sleep.


	30. Chapter 29

Part Twenty-Nine

Someone, probably female, probably in her late teens, with a rather tinny voice was bugging her. Something about fries. And a drink. And saving a couple dollars.

She didn't fucking care about saving a couple dollars. She just wanted to go the fuck back to sleep.

Which she couldn't do as long as the female late teen tinny voice sing-songed about having a happy fucking meal.

And she kind of wanted to retch.

With a giggle she realized was more than likely a tad hysterical, Olivia wondered if throwing up on Miss Peppy would shut her the fuck up.

As he turned to look at her, Elliot's face seemed to swim, the edges fluorescent and blinking, swirling around as though she'd looked directly at the sun for too long. "What's so funny?"

Luckily, the familiar voice wasn't at all tinny or happy. Grumpy, tired Elliot was comfortable. Something tugged at the back of her sleepy, fuzzy brain. Elliot was comfortable. But she was mad at him. She couldn't remember why, but being mad at Elliot was hardly something new or at all out of the ordinary. In fact, being pissed off at Elliot was as comfortable to her psyche as grumpy, tired Elliot was.

There'd been a question, she was sure of it, relatively. She figured he'd repeat it eventually. Her head turned away from the glaring light only to find that there was glaring light everywhere. She wondered where her sunglasses were.

And then he spoke again, except that he was suddenly female, young, excited and demanding eight-seventy-five.

It took all her strength to look and not wince at the light, seeing Elliot's face turned away from her as he paid the girl with the ridiculous visor on her head. Elliot not looking at her was familiar too, especially when she was mad, so that didn't bother her. But then Miss Peppy flashed Elliot a grin as she handed him his change. She was pretty, if on the average side, and younger than most of Elliot's children. She listened as Elliot, in a not grumpy or tired voice, thanked her.

Now, usually, Olivia wouldn't have noticed it. But usually, Olivia hadn't been drugged nor had she recently exchanged quite a few bodily fluids with her partner. So she felt she was perfect entitled to be pissy about nonexistent flirting she'd imagined.

She glared at Elliot as he accepted the bag from Miss Peppy. He didn't pay any attention to her, setting the bag on the seat between them. A minute later, her head jerked back as Elliot accelerated. She hadn't even realized she was in a car. Shaking her head to clear it, she wound up gripping the dashboard to stop her head from spinning.

He pulled to a stop a minute later, finding an empty spot. "I got you a hamburger." He reached into the bag, withdrawing a paper-wrapped sandwich and picking at the orange wrapper. "I know, I know, but I'm starving and you haven't eaten all day. Besides, you haven't had fast food in like five years, right? One burger isn't going to hurt you."

She wasn't really hungry, but the smell of food made her stomach growl. Looking around, she tried to find a landmark, something, anything, that might explain why she felt so dazed. Nothing looked familiar, not even the drab gray interior of the van. Her eyes fell on Elliot who she at least recognized, even if she was angry.

He was picking at the burger he'd unwrapped. "This one has cheese, so I'd say it's mine." He frowned. "But it has mustard. So it can't be."

Olivia frowned, hoping he wasn't expecting that she'd eat that. A burger was bad enough. She drew the line at fast food cheese. She had no desire to have a heart attack in her seat.

Elliot unwrapped the other burger in the bag. "Damn it, this one has cheese too."

Olivia snickered. Apparently, Miss Perky wasn't as skilled with the order-taking as she was with being over-excited.

He glared at her. "Hey, I don't mind the cheese." Just to drive home the point, he took a bite which included half the burger.

She shrugged, hungry enough to look in the bag for something else. There were two orders of fries in there, spilled out all over the grease covered bag. Her hands were a bit uncoordinated as she reached in and closed her fist around a couple. It took all of her concentration to try to get them to her mouth, after the first two attempts wound up with her slow, heavy hands trying to stick them in her cheek.

As Elliot balled up the wrapper from the sandwich he'd downed in just over two bites, he looked over at her with a grin. "Need help?"

"Thirsty." Why she was trying to feed herself when, in fact, all she really wanted was about five gallons of water, she didn't know. Why she was telling Elliot, who she was still mad at although she still had no idea why, was beyond her as well.

He reached down, his hand curling around a soda can in the cup holder. He rolled down the window, poured out the remaining liquid, and tossed the empty can in the back. As he was settling the one of the two plastic cups in the holder, Olivia's mouth fell open.

"You drugged me!"

His grin faltered a bit, but he didn't say a word.

"Again!"

He shrugged that time, holding the remaining plastic cup still while he popped the straw through the lid. Then he lifted it, offering the liquid to her as per her request, apparently knowing that her coordination was going to be lacking for some time.

Angrily, she turned away, gripping the door in a slight panic as the world seemed to spin around her. Fuck him if he thought she was going to trust anything he offered to her. Fuck him if he thought she was going to trust anything he said to her. Fuck him if he thought she was going to trust him. Period.

"Come on, Liv, you've been awake since the girl handed these to me. You know I didn't put anything in them." There was a smile on his face; she could hear it in his voice.

She wished she had something more substantial that a handful of fries to throw at him. Instead, she mercilessly squashed the potatoes between her fingers, trying not to whimper with sudden hunger when the scent reached her nose.

There were noises from his side of the van, noises that she recognized, yet couldn't place. Then his arm appeared in her line of vision, wrapping around her far side. She pulled back instinctively, and wound up pressing herself against his chest, apparently exactly as he'd expected.

He chuckled as he closed his arms around her, holding the drink in one hand, the disgusting deep-fried lard patty dripping with deep-fried lard cheese in the other. "Why would I drug you again? You're still malleable." He snickered as she tried to move away without any luck. "I don't want you dead, Liv, just cooperative."

She jerked her face to stare at him, her narrowed eyes ready to give him her 'if looks could kill' glare. But his face was so close and he smelled so good and his eyes were so bright blue. Fuck, she still wanted him.

She could only close her eyes, barely holding back her whimper at the sudden coiling of heat between her legs. She was acutely aware of his scent, maybe due to the running heater. She didn't want to think he could detect her shifting thoughts, her reaction to his body, but she feared he could.

If he did notice, he mercifully didn't mention it. "Come on, Liv. You need to eat something."

With his intoxicating presence on one side and the poisonous, artery-clogging feast on the other, her options were limited. She willed her mind to focus, trying to wade through the misty haze that was coating her brain. "I don't want it."

"You're going to get sick if you don't eat." The tone of his voice made her realize he probably wasn't above force feeding her.

"What difference does it make to you?" She told herself not to feel a warm, cozy sense of comfort in his embrace, especially since he'd tricked her into his arms in the first place. "You're taking me back home to be raped and murdered. What do you care if I'm well nourished when he comes for me?"

His face moved closer, his chin brushing her shoulder as his cheek pressed into hers. "No one's going to hurt you, Liv. I'll make sure someone takes care of you."

She wanted to shove him away, but not only would such an action likely result in her being covered with soda, she also couldn't force her body not to shudder when he came in contact with her. So it likely wouldn't respond to any order she gave it to move away from him.

Instead she turned toward him again, forcing a bit more contact between their faces. "Please, El, please think about this."

"The fact that you haven't picked up your gun and shot me gives me a pretty fair indication that you're not exactly yourself, Liv." He shifted so that he was still holding her, but his face was no longer near hers. "And playing on the fact that I'm attracted to you is only going to undermine your attempts to convince me how fucking fine you are."

She shoved her elbow back into him, wishing she could hold onto that intense, if fleeting, rush of burning anger. But she couldn't. It faded as quickly as it came, leaving her cold where Elliot had pulled himself away from her. She glanced at him, at the way he picked up her gun from the seat between them where she hadn't noticed it and waved it at her, and growled, her scowl firmly in place. "Fuck you."

He smiled at her, a tight, placating sort of smile she wanted to smack right off his face. "You tried that."

And then she did smack him, without actually intending to. Her hand just reached out and slapped him right across his cheek, leaving smeared pieces of French fries to fall into his lap.

He reached up, wiping at the food remnants on his reddened cheek. "See, that's more like you, but still a little soft." His hand shot out, grabbing hers and curled her fingers into a fist. "A healthy, normal, unscathed Liv would deck me for saying something like that."

She snatched her hand back and glared at him. "I've never hit you, no matter how many times you've deserved it."

He smiled. "Told you, you're fucked up in the head. By your own admission, you'd never normally hit me."

She turned away, plucking a couple more fries out of the bag. "I'd hit anyone who tried to tell me that I was healthy, normal and unscathed under any circumstances."

He threw the burger at her and went to shift the van into gear. "Eat the damn food or throw it out the window."

Catching the burger, more out of fear that it would wind up staining her coat than anything else, she glared out the windshield. They were still in the middle of nowhere as far as she could tell. "Where are we?"

Elliot shrugged, either not knowing or not caring to share. "Go back to sleep if you're not going to eat. I don't want to listen to you whining the rest of the way about how hungry you are."

She unwrapped the burger, her stomach rolling at the idea of eating it even as it growled in anticipation of food. A bit of green showed through on the side. Horrified, she picked at it, mildly relieved that it was only a pickle and not mold. With a grin that she hid behind the orange wrapper, she flung the pickle across the space between them.

It hit him square in the face, smacking into his nose with a sloppy, greasy squish before slipping down and falling into his lap.

The wrapper couldn't hide the squeal of laughter, which she blamed entirely on the pill he'd given her. Otherwise, she knew she'd never find such unbridled joy in seeing her pissed off partner with a trail of special sauce staining his face.

He slammed on the brakes before he turned to glare at her. He wasn't happy. There was a look on his face, she decided, that men learned in dad school. It was the sort of look her girlfriends from grade school had told her they got when they fought with their siblings in the backseat on car trips. It was the sort of look that would shut up a group of four screeching, overly sugar-indulged kids at the end of a day at the beach. She'd never seen such a look before, but it had the power to silence her drug-induced giggles. She swallowed hard and realized she really didn't want to deal with Elliot in a rage.

He narrowed his eyes at her, somehow managing to maintain a completely serious face even as bits of sauce dripped into his lap. She wanted to laugh, but she didn't really want to get thrown out of the car, and one look at that pissed-off-dad stare told her he'd do it. She swallowed the giggle and tried to look innocent.

"Are you done?"

She nodded.

"Good." He turned back to the road and started driving again.

A moment later, she pulled the one napkin Miss Peppy deemed them worthy of out of the bag and offered it to him. He took it without looking at her, wiping at his cheek and nose.

Quietly, Olivia turned back to her burger and ate it without feeling compelled to launch any more vegetables his way. She sipped at the drink to wash down the grease and ended the meal by shoving a few cold fries into her mouth, rounding out the most painfully unhealthy meal she'd eaten in a long time. She wished she could sleep some more, if only to keep herself from feeling sick, but the pill seemed to have worn off. Without the effects of a waning adrenaline rush to play off, the pill wasn't nearly as potent as that first night.

After what seemed like forever, she noticed the traffic started to get heavier. And then exit signs for vaguely familiar neighborhoods started appearing. Olivia's heart started to pound, instinctive fear welling up and making her regret her meal.

She turned to Elliot, who'd started obeying the speed limit all of a sudden. "Elliot?"

He didn't look at her, only shrugged instead. She knew it was a crack in his armor, that he was having second thoughts.

"Please, El, you can turn around and take me back up there. Please! I won't touch you, if that's what you want."

He shook his head, daring to glance in her direction for a brief second. "That's the last thing I want, Olivia. I think you know that by now."

She wasn't expecting tears, but she felt them slipping down her face. "Jesus, Elliot, think about what you're doing! There's someone here who wants to hurt me! And he knows a fucking shitload about me and you and-"

He reached over, grabbing her fisted hand where it rested on the seat between them and squeezing it tight. "I'll make sure you're safe, Liv. Cragen will put a detail on you, he'll keep you safe."

She tried to laugh, but it wouldn't come out, not with the tears in the way. "A protective detail? You mean like the brilliantly observant one that was watching me when you grabbed me? Yeah, that's a great idea."

"After you disappeared, he probably discovered their incompetence and fired them."

She turned away, disappointed in herself for crying, disappointed that her tears didn't have an effect on him. "Right, so there's a new team ready to display their own unique brand of incompetence. Maybe they'll find me dead in my bed instead of just missing."

"Stop it! Don't say that!" His hand squeezed hers, the tightness of his grip revealing the fear he was trying to hide. "You'll be ok."

Yanking her hand away, she wiped at her tears. "How can you promise that? You'll be in jail. You think for one second Petrovsky isn't going to try to teach you a lesson about listening to her?"

His hands locked around the steering wheel, putting all his strength into crushing it. "No one in that damn precinct is going to let you out of their sight, Olivia."

She lapsed back into silence, understanding for the first time that nothing she said was going to change his mind. Instead, she stared at the road as it transformed far too quickly, at least in her opinion, into the familiar streets of the city. And still, before she knew it, Elliot pulled the van to a stop behind the brick building that housed the one-six.

She turned to look at him, but his face was hidden behind the stone-cold mask. But she had an instinct to survive, one that told her to try one last time. "El, please."

He said nothing as he got out of the van, reaching for her arm to pull her across the seat. "Come on, show time."

She tried to hold onto the steering wheel, but her strength was no match for his, not when he pulled her fingers loose. "El, stop, please!"

It barely took anything out of him to pull her out of the van and up the stairs. The back door, the one he was pulling her toward, was technically the fire door, the one supposedly wired to set off the alarm when opened. But everyone in the precinct knew that the wires had been pulled years ago and the lock rigged open, the safe haven for smokers who'd been kicked off the roof by city ordinance about smoking on city property.

Although there were people around, many of whom were staring, no one stopped them as Elliot escorted Olivia into the elevator. She was about to ask him what he was going to do, what his plan was, but the words didn't get the chance to form. The sounds died on her lips as Elliot yanked her arms back, securing them with the damn handcuffs.

"Listen, Liv, this is for your own protection." He prodded her forward as the doors opened, past the stares of people who stopped dead in their tracks. "It's probably better that they think you were with me against your will, ok?"

She turned to look at him to respond as she crossed the threshold, passing in front of Cragen's office. The hush that fell over the room told her something was very wrong, but even as she stared at him, she couldn't accept it. She couldn't really believe it.

Yet there he was, staring her down, her hands cuffed behind her, her own gun pointed squarely at her chest in the middle of the bullpen.


	31. Chapter 30

Part Thirty

Instinct told her to panic, yet she was perfectly calm. There was still a drive in her that said to raise her hands and show that she wasn't a threat. Except the handcuffs kind of inhibited that anyway. And she was absolutely not afraid of Elliot in any way, shape, or form, something that undoubtedly showed in the boredom on her face.

She looked around to see who was there, witnessing Elliot's spectacularly stupid display. Munch and Fin were nowhere in sight. There were several detectives she knew, and a few uniforms milling about. A group of three was gathered around the coffee pot, where one guy stood refilling his cup, frozen in action except for the stream of coffee that hadn't gotten the memo about freezing in place. Olivia watched with mild curiosity for the moment of realization as the detective noticed he was making a mess. He moved slowly, resetting the pot, trying to pretend that he hadn't moved at all.

Her eyes turned in the other direction, finally spotting Munch and Fin where they were crammed, stock still, midway through the door. They'd been on their way in to update the boss, she imagined, however, their news paled in comparison to their sometimes wayward friends who were entertaining the whole fucking room.

"All right, son, now don't do anything stupid." Cragen's voice was quiet. Steady and strong and familiar. He was the only one who'd moved, having stepped through his office door, his gun gripped in two hands, pointed vaguely at the floor.

Elliot's face betrayed his amusement and he met Olivia's eyes. "Oh, now I'm 'son?' I'd have thought he'd disown me over this one."

Olivia couldn't help it, the laugh spilling out as much from a stress response as from the words from both men. Ignoring Elliot, she looked to the left at Cragen. "Don't bother, Don. I've been telling him that all fucking day."

Elliot's eyes followed hers, glancing at Cragen. "I know this looks bad-"

Cragen shook his head, one hand leaving his gun to motion in the air and making an altogether indistinct gesture. "You weren't the guy stalking her, we know."

Elliot didn't bother to hide his surprise. His shock turned to Cragen, his voice nearly unrecognizable. "You do?"

Olivia shook her head and really wished she had free hands to throw something at him. Something bigger than a pickle. Something that might make a dent in that rock hard head of his that was devoid of anything besides rage and chivalry. "Yeah, I tried that one too." She nodded at Elliot. "Although, admittedly, you're getting a better response."

Cragen shot her a glare, a move that took her by complete surprise. She'd been the victim of both the stalking and an assault. She'd been the victim of a kidnapping too. And yet, she was the one getting the angry glare. Next time she was mad, she decided she'd take Elliot hostage.

Cragen made quite the show of putting his gun back in the holster. "Elliot, you're in some trouble, but it's nothing we can't clear up by tomorrow."

Elliot chewed on his bottom lip, the holes in his plan obvious to everyone. Olivia swore she could feel her heart breaking, terrified that one more stupid decision from her distraught partner would result in someone putting a bullet through his head. He looked at her, as always expecting some sort of guidance from his partner.

She could only look down, all too aware of the careful way half the men in the room had drawn their weapons despite Cragen's lead, afraid she was about to watch him die.

It was obvious the moment he lowered the gun.

The whole room sprang into action, a hoard of people, some she knew, some she didn't, descended on him, wrestling the gun from him, shoving him first into the wall, then to the floor. He wasn't even resisting, not even as Cragen was shouting at them to back off.

If only she'd had use of her hands, she'd have joined in the fray, defending her partner no matter the consequences. Instead she stood helplessly with tears running down her face.

"Stop! Stop it! Leave him alone!" She couldn't stand there silently, not even if she couldn't really help.

But there was something about her shrieks, her desperation, her tears, her terror, her pain, something that made them back off. Their faces were red, from embarrassment or exertion she couldn't tell. She doubted they could either. Elliot lay motionless, face down on the floor, his head turned to the side, showing a line of blood trailing from his cheek.

Unable to wipe at her tears, she decided there was no use in being ashamed of them. She looked accusingly at the men who'd be unable or unwilling to restrain themselves. "Bastards! He didn't fucking hurt me!" She took two steps to his side, her legs folding under her as she tried to assess his injuries. "Somebody call a bus!"

"Somebody uncuff her!" Cragen's barked order seemed to be for anyone who would listen, but it was Fin who crouched behind her

"Glad to see you're all right."

She glared at him. "Like Elliot would ever hurt me." As soon as one hand was free, she carefully prodded Elliot's back, decided nothing was broken and rolled him over. His eyes flashed open as she did so, a brief peek of blue, searching for her. She simply knew he was looking for her, the same as she always looked for him when she was injured. "It's ok, El. I'm here."

Cragen squatted down, stilling Olivia's frantic hands. "He'll be alright, Olivia."

She looked up, all hints of her previous humor gone. Her head started to shake from side to side, despite knowing that wasn't going to clear anything up. "It wasn't him. He didn't hurt me. I know it. It was a mistake. I made a mistake."

Cragen's hands gripped hers, his eyes soft as he nodded. "I know. There've been a couple developments." The boss turned, asking Munch him to ride along with Elliot.

Olivia objected. "No! I want to go with him."

"That's not a good idea. At the moment, there's a warrant out for his arrest and thirty witnesses to him violating an active restraining order."

"But it was a mistake. He didn't-he should-he-"

Fin's hand fell on her back, rubbing her gently. "He'll be fine, Liv. We'll keep him here as late as we can tonight and Greyleck can drop the charges first thing."

Even though she knew the answer, she wasn't a cop as she watched Elliot loaded onto the stretcher and wheeled away. "But why? Why does he have to get locked up at all?"

Fin's hand moved to her shoulder and patted her. "It's just a formality." As soon as Elliot and Munch were out of sight, Fin's voice changed from the soft gentle tone to its regular sound, dropping words that were meant for Cragen. "It's bad, Cap."

Olivia looked up in time to see Cragen wince. "What's bad?"

The two men ignored her while Cragen asked another question. "You got an id?"

Olivia pushed at Fin, whose side she was still cushioned against, squaring off against both men. "Whose id? What's bad, damn it?"

Cragen frowned, stepping toward his office while Fin prodded Olivia to follow. "When you didn't show up for work three days ago, we searched your apartment."

Fin filled in where the boss stopped. "Found a female's body in your bed. Raped, mutilated, hands cut off so we couldn't get prints. He cut and dyed her hair to match yours, dressed her in your clothes before he cut her up. We knew it wasn't you, but we couldn't figure out who she was. Bastard pulled all her teeth out too, just to fucking play with us."

Olivia felt sick, thinking about a woman, some poor substitute for her, dying a terrible, gruesome death in her home, in her bed, in her clothes. She practically collapsed into the chair in front of Cragen's desk. "Oh, god." It had been bad enough when it was her on the block, but she was horrified to think someone else might have died in her place. "Did he go after her because he couldn't get me?"

Cragen sat down beside her, stilling the hands she hadn't noticed were wringing in her lap. "No, Olivia, you were his target."

Fin leaned against Cragen's desk, but didn't touch her. "And now that we know who she was, we know he was going to kill her no matter what you did."

Both faces turned up, but Olivia's voice was too hoarse to ask. Cragen's voice asked the question. "Who was she?"

"Munch brought me up to speed on who she was, but you two'll probably recognize her right off." Fin looked down, as if to verify the piece of paper in his hand. "Name's Kimberly Phillips."


	32. Chapter 31

Part Thirty-One

If the world stopped turning, Olivia wouldn't have noticed. Her own world had already stopped. Her brain was frozen, having stopped processing immediately upon hearing Fin's words. If she hadn't already been sitting down, her legs would have folded under her.

Kimberly Phillips. A woman murdered in her bed was bad enough. A woman murdered in place of herself was bad enough, even with the fact that the woman was likely going to die anyway. But unlike countless other murder victims she'd dealt with over the years, Kimberly Phillips wasn't a faceless, nameless person who'd never existed in Olivia's mind before she was dead. Rather than learning about the woman from surviving friends and family, hearing about her life from coworkers and neighbors, Olivia had met the woman, she'd talked to her. Olivia had needed her help.

She'd promised Kimberly that she would be safe, that she would be protected.

But ten years had gone by.

And she'd assumed Kimberly was safe.

The same as she'd assumed she was safe.

Her brain started moving again, trying to put together pieces that didn't seem to fit. She looked at Fin, who didn't appear to be ready to announce that he was just pulling her leg. She looked at Cragen, who didn't appear to understand the words himself. "How the hell did he get out?"

Fin shrugged, his understanding of the history likely limited to Munch's recounting of purely factual and possibly inaccurate information. The case was a decade old. "Munch was going to look into that, but I'll go-"

Cragen stood up, cutting Fin off. "No, I'll call the DA. That bastard never should have gotten released." He moved around his desk, grabbing the phone and slamming his fingers into the keys.

Olivia found her way to her unsteady feet, feeling Fin's hand on the small of her back as he ushered her through the door. It wouldn't have bothered her normally, but under the circumstances, with the new information she was trying to understand, she missed Elliot. His presence was always comforting, more so when she was upset. Instead she looked over at Fin, fighting the urge to shrug off his support. She forced a smile, or at least she tried. She wasn't at all convinced that she succeeded.

His smile, however, didn't appear forced. His eyes found hers and he shrugged a bit nervously. "Glad to see you back in one piece, Liv." He walked with her to her desk, his eyes moving away when he spoke again. "We hoped you were all right, but-"

She was glad that his hands weren't on her anymore. "But what?"

Fin took a step back. "But all we had was a dead body and the two of you missing." Another step landed him at his own desk before he continued. "And Elliot's prints in your apartment."

Elliot had hardly spent much time in her apartment, but between the stress of fighting with him and watching him getting beaten up and the terror of learning about a dead woman in her bed and the identity of her attacker Olivia had more or less forgotten about that evening. That evening when he'd demanded her cooperation and took it upon himself to protect her against her will. That evening when he'd carefully, faithfully acted as her partner, after she'd been so thoughtless and cruel to turn on him. She'd wanted to castrate him while he'd been concerned about the tape hurting her lips.

Her hand moved to her lips, feeling them, remembering how perfectly they'd fit against Elliot's, missing him more acutely at that moment. God, she was a fucking bitch. She'd hurt him. And he was still trying to protect her from someone she should have known all along was a real threat.

She glared at Fin, turning her anger and guilt and hatred outward. "And you bastards thought he would hurt me? What the fuck is wrong with you?" Her fist smashed down on her desk. She wanted to do more than hurl words at Fin. She wanted to hit someone. She wanted to hit herself. Elliot was lying on a stretcher somewhere because he'd protected her.

She didn't want to hit someone. She wanted to hug someone. And that someone wasn't Fin.

"Fuck, Liv, you're the one who turned us onto Elliot as a suspect."

She jumped to her feet, feeling an itch she suspected Elliot often had, anticipating someone would cross an invisible line so she could feel justified in pummeling him. "I did no such thing!" Even as the words came out, she knew they weren't true. But the guilt she felt for turning on her partner was too much. She couldn't let herself admit it. She couldn't let someone else call her on it.

Fin looked surprised, but not particularly concerned. "That's what Cragen said." He sized her up for a moment, as if wondering why she was so mad. "You didn't say anything to the contrary. And then you were gone and his prints were in your bedroom."

A sharp, cold fear gripped her, thinking that somehow Fin, and maybe everyone, knew what had happened up in that cabin. Maybe that was the real reason they'd been staring. She hadn't looked in a mirror, for all she knew there were fucking hickeys all over her neck from the night before.

Her eyes widened as she slumped back in her seat. She didn't want people to know. She didn't want to face the rumors. It wasn't that she was embarrassed; she didn't think there was anything at all to be ashamed of in their relationship. She knew it was real, it was a love built on a long friendship and even longer attraction. But she wasn't ready for her coworkers to know, for people to talk about her behind her back, for people to think that it had always been going on, for people to think she'd been the other woman in a doomed marriage. A marriage that Elliot hadn't bothered to tell anyone was over.

Fin took a step closer, but she didn't even notice until he spoke. "Liv, you sure you're all right?"

His voice made her jump in her chair, her heart beating wildly as she tried to nonchalantly cover her neck with her hands. "What are you looking at?"

His eyes narrowed, fixing on her hands as though he could see through them. "Something wrong with your neck?"

"No!" There was definitely something wrong with her. She couldn't help but wonder why she hadn't checked for evidence of their tumble in the sheets. And then she remembered that when she'd had access to a mirror, she hadn't had any plans to face her prying, nosy fellow detectives. She shrugged half-heartedly, sure that nothing she said would convince Fin that he hadn't seen some proof. "I must have done something in bed-"

She squeezed her eyes closed, momentarily assailed by memories, so vivid they seemed like pictures, of being in bed with Elliot. Her cheeks reddened as she continued, trying to stumble through enough words that Fin would stop staring at her for signs of guilt the way her mother always had when she came home. "I slept wrong or something."

There hadn't been a damn thing wrong with the way she'd slept. The only thing wrong was that Elliot seemed to think it had been wrong.

Fin's gaze held hers, his eyes narrowing in the slightest tell of distrust. "Ok, sure." He stepped back, falling into his own seat. "Whatever you say."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Everything in her told her to drop it, to distract him before he found out something specific, but she never would have let a comment like that slide if she hadn't been trying to hide something and so felt like she had to respond.

"Nothing, Liv." He flipped open a file on his desk, skimming it quickly before he typed something on his computer. He looked up after a moment, his eyes meeting hers once again. "Like I said, I'm just glad you're not out there with some psycho holding you prisoner."

"Elliot is not some psycho and he wasn't holding me prisoner." Her hands were braced on her desk, ready to shove her chair back so she could attack in defense of her partner.

Rather than backing off, Fin shook his head, smiling like he thought something was funny. "I wasn't talking about your partner. I was talking about the murdering psycho who left the dead woman in your bed." He stood up, waving a sticky at her where she could see a scribbled series of numbers. "I'm going downstairs to get the file. Be back in a bit."

Feeling stupid for drawing attention to what she was trying to hide, to her desperate need to protect both Elliot and their secret, Olivia looked away. The amount of time it would take Fin to locate the old file was more than welcome. She needed time. She needed to shut up. She needed to get away before she said something dumber than she already had. She wanted to go home. But she couldn't. Home wasn't hers anymore. Even if she could get over having been attacked there by someone far more dangerous and scary than Elliot could ever be, there was no home for her. Not there, not that apartment.

She could never stay there, not knowing that Kimberly had been dragged in there, tortured and murdered, her terrified, knowing eyes falling on Olivia's belongings, praying that the owner would come home in time to rescue her.

She could never stay there, not knowing that he'd been there, again, threatening her, taunting her.

She shook her head, trying to shake out the thoughts of her stuff, her space, her retreat, splattered with blood, littered with crime scene tape. Her eyes moved to Fin, who'd returned while she'd been lost in thought. She tried to speak, but had to clear her throat several times before words would form.

"Fin, give me the file."

He looked, stared, measured, then sighed and stood up. He moved to Munch's desk, wheeling the chair over next to hers, dropping the case file in front of her. "So, Liv, tell me what's not in here."

The lump she'd just evicted from her throat turned into tears that she refused to shed. She shrugged as she bit her lip, determined that she wouldn't cry. "Nothing. Everything's in there."

Fin shook his head, his friendly nudge of her shoulder, his encouraging wink, just making her yearn for Elliot's presence. But Fin, as always, was more perceptive than she ever gave him credit for. "He's going to be fine, Liv."

She averted her eyes, afraid to let him see the spark of hope and fear at his words. "I know, I just-"

He nodded. "He's your partner. I know." He moved his arm around her shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze. "It's ok." His attention moved back to the file as he opened it to reveal yellowed pages that had once been pristine and white. "There's always something that's not in here, I'm guessing it's something that will explain what's got everyone so jumpy. Tell me about this Richard White."


	33. Chapter 32

Part Thirty-Two

Olivia spent the better part of two hours bringing Fin up to speed on the first case that had really and truly scared her. She tried to make it factual, filling in a bit between the lines of the official documentation, while leaving a lot of it out. The case itself, without her personal involvement, had been horrific enough to disturb Fin. White's cold, methodical behavior, his twisted indifference, his complete disregard for the value of a human life – they weren't things that Fin could easily understand. It was part of the reason why he was able to work so well in Special Victims. It was part of why the four primary detectives and their captain had wound up together in that unit. Because they cared about people, the well-being of strangers, the soothing of wounds that would never heal.

Plus there was the added angle of how they'd first heard of Richard White – through the torture, rape and murder of Karen Fitzgerald, the young ADA who'd had the audacity to prosecute him for date rape. ADA's weren't cops, but they were close enough that cops took their murder personally.

She doled out the rest as well, the chilling murder scene at Louise Billing's apartment, which served as fair warning to anyone else who might dare accuse White of something like rape. She explained Kimberly Phillips as well, telling about the nervous way the woman had revealed the start of her partnership with White, how her tongue had only loosened about the details when Elliot and Olivia had threatened to call the IRS on her.

Fin shook his head, a smile not quite hidden behind his hand.

Olivia turned her attention to him, wanting to know what he found so funny in the midst of a gruesome tale. "If something about this is amusing you, Fin,-"

He shook his head again, letting her see the smile he'd been trying to hide. "Nah, Liv, I'm good. I was just thinking how you two bicker like an old married couple." He chuckled to himself when he found no understanding in her face. "You guys were partners ten years ago. No wonder you get on each other's nerves."

Olivia knew she ought to take the chance and run with it, knowing the odds were slim that he was suddenly passive-aggressive and implying that he knew what had happened at the cabin. Still, the guilty paranoia refused to let her drop it. "You and Munch have been partners for nine years." She glared at him, continuing before he could argue. "And you bicker like an old married couple sometimes too. I don't accuse you of sleeping together."

Fin sat back with a laugh, holding his hands up in surrender. "Ok, ok, please, that's enough. First off, I don't accuse you of sleeping together and second," he paused to leer at her in a comical fashion, "baby, Munch has nothing on you."

Her cheeks were flaming red, more from the fear that she'd accidentally told Fin more than he needed to know with her behavior than from his comment. Still, she averted her eyes and pretended that his teasing embarrassed her.

His reaction was exactly how she'd expected, his sigh revealing disappointment, his hand tapping gently on her shoulder. "Liv, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

She cut him off with her hand, unable to listen to him bumble through an apology she didn't need to hear. "Don't, it's ok. I've just had a rough day, you know?"

He looked at her curiously, his brow furrowing. "Bad week too, right? Cause, seriously, my partner kidnapped me, I'd be all kinds of pissed off."

Just the mention of the time she'd spent with Elliot brought a smile to her face, despite all her attempts to keep the events from coming under public scrutiny. Knowing she was grinning and blushing and completely unable to stop, she shrugged at Fin. "Well, you have to admit Munch doesn't have those pretty blue eyes of Elliot's."

Fin stared at her, his eyes searching for something she really hoped he didn't find. Finally he shrugged and turned his attention back to the case file, letting Olivia continue with any information that wasn't already in there. It didn't take him nearly as long to tell her everything that had happened while she was gone. Not that much had happened, at least not that was particularly useful.

The day she didn't turn up at work and wasn't answering her phone, Cragen sent Munch and Fin to find her. Kimberly's body was discovered, the techs and the coroner's office were called in, and while they were preoccupied with checking up on Elliot's whereabouts and trying to determine just whose body they'd found, Cragen had called them back to the office. Fin said they'd simply been instructed to start searching old cases for recent prison releases, the more violent, the more personal, the better.

Fin shrugged at her, clearly uncomfortable with the idea that something was being kept from him. "Dad never said why Elliot wasn't a suspect anymore."

Olivia wondered what it was that had changed his mind; Cragen had been more convinced than she'd been when they'd last spoken. Her eyes left her desk, searching for her boss through the open blinds of his office. He was there, as usual, except rather than his typically cool, collected presence, the older man was pacing the length of his office, his red face and pinched expression aimed at the phone on his desk, his hurried, exaggerated movements making him seem liked a caged tiger, liable to strike at the first opportunity. She could hear his raised voice, somewhat muffled by the closed door, recognizing that harsh, furious tone, and was thankful that it wasn't aimed at her or her partner for once.

No, for once, Cragen was mad for them. Acting in every way like the father figure they often joked he tried to be to the group of detectives whose only common trait was the lack of a supportive male role model. But rather than proud that she'd inspired such loyalty not only from her partner but from her boss as well, Olivia only felt worse. Because she could easily recall all the many times she'd let him down. Because she could easily recall all the many instances she'd gone against his advice. Because she could easily recall all the many ways her relationship with her partner had strayed beyond anything she could hope to explain to the man.

With her eyes locked on her boss, waiting for him to somehow know of her improprieties the same as he appeared to have simply known that Elliot wasn't guilty of stalking her, she angled her head toward Fin. "He didn't even give you a clue why El wasn't a suspect anymore?"

Fin shook his head, distracted from her by the buzzing of his phone. He stood up, motioning at her that he'd be back, lifting the phone to his ear. True to his word, he was back in the chair not quite a minute later. "Munch just wanted to let us know he's on his way back." He held up his hand with a laugh before Olivia could jump on him for information on her partner. "He's fine, Liv. They'll be back in twenty minutes."

Olivia's heart was racing, from fear and excitement and nervous energy. She and Elliot had hardly left things in a good place. Elliot was certainly still in trouble for violating the restraining order, even though it and the charges would be erased in the morning. And she was plagued with the fear that between Cragen, Munch, and Fin, one of the highly observant bunch would recognize some miniscule change in the dynamic between her and her partner. She tried to distract herself, from both the overwhelming fear that her personal life was about to be known by all and the terror that White was loose and coming after her. Slapping the old case file closed, she reached for her computer, searching for Kimberly's relatives.

Fin collected both files and rolled Munch's chair back into place before returning to his desk. "When Munch gets back, we'll notify next of kin." He glanced back over his shoulder, checking to be sure Cragen was still wrapped up in his call. "Tell Cragen when he gets off, ok?"

She shook her head, copying down the name and address of Kimberly's mother, Rosalyn Phillips. "I'll take the notification with you. Munch can stay here."

Fin's laugh was loud and hard, exactly not the sort induced by humor. "Are you out of your mind? Neither of you are going anywhere." He walked over to snag the paper with the address out of Olivia's hand. "Like Cragen's ever letting you out of his sight again."

Swallowing hard, she realized the utter accuracy of his words. She'd been better off at the cabin in more ways than one. Being up there made her physically safe, but it worked mentally too. As long as she was in such a strange environment, her situation hadn't been far from her mind. However, the familiarity of the bullpen, of her friends and her job, bred a sense of normalcy, a feeling of safety. Something that could soothe her guard down only to bite her in the ass. She needed to remember that she was far from safe until Richard White was back behind bars.

Instead of arguing as she would have done under any other circumstances, she sat quietly, silently, watching Cragen's pacing as though she were hypnotized. In fact, she practically was, because when an odd silence descended on the room, she only vaguely noticed. A pair of bodies crossed through her line of sight, though, and that upset her focus, causing her to look up.

There was Munch, standing in front of Cragen's door, his hand paused halfway to the doorknob as he tried to determine if it was safe to interrupt.

Again, she barely noticed.

Because her eyes immediately fell to Munch's left, on the far more intimately familiar body of her partner. Everyone had said he'd be fine. Fin had said they were returning. But she hadn't really believed it, had brushed it aside as attempts to comfort her that were meaningless and not at all grounded in honesty.

But there he was, standing in front of her, a small red line crossed by a couple of butterfly bandages on his cheek the only evidence of how he'd been pounded down by her so-called friends. There was more damage, she was sure of it, but she couldn't see it, wouldn't see it, not until he felt like letting her see it, which she knew wouldn't be soon because she remembered all too well that he hadn't exactly been speaking to her when he'd dragged her there kicking and screaming.

She didn't care, though, because it didn't matter, not in the greater scheme of things. All she cared about was that he was there and alive and safe and close enough to touch. She had no recollection of getting up, nor of crossing the floor. It seemed that she was sitting there at her desk staring at him one moment, in his arms the next.

It had been too long, too long away from his arms, too long away from him period. Her arms wrapped around his torso, grabbing him fiercely, tugging him toward her, gripping him tightly. She didn't care that people were staring. She didn't care that whispers were already starting. She didn't care that she was afraid of people knowing what had happened between them.

Truth be told, the only real feeling of safety she had was when she was with her partner. A building full of cops had nothing on him.

And there was nothing, nothing at all, like the peace of mind she found when she felt his arms encircle her. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and squeezed him tight. He squeezed her back for a moment, one of his hands pressing between her shoulder blades, the other cupping her head.

He wasn't too worried about the rumors either, she knew, because he was addressing her first, talking to her, comforting her, before he made any attempts to explain anything to anyone looking. His face ducked down, his voice soft and gentle and warm. "Shhh, Liv, it's ok." His head lifted, his shoulders shifting in a shrug, his voice louder, aimed at whoever, namely everyone in the room, was looking. "Did she develop amnesia while I was gone?"

Munch and Fin gave the snickered answer he was searching for; Cragen's raised bark sending nearly everyone running for something that looked like work. But Olivia didn't let go, instead growing more afraid with every second that someone was going to take Elliot away from her, possibly forever. And with that gnawing fear, her arms pulled him tighter, refusing to give him up without a fight.

A sharp hiss of pain accompanied his next words. "Damn, Liv, the ribs, watch the ribs."

There was another hand on her back, one that was clearly not Elliot's, patting her twice. Then Munch's voice, trying to interject rational thought into her possessive panic. "Your partner lucked out with only bruised ribs this time, although I doubt he'll continue to be so lucky if you don't let him breathe."

And then Elliot's arms retreated, leaving her cold and scared, his hands finding her shoulders, pushing her away. "Bruised and broken feels the same to me." A harder push, no more reassuring words. "Somebody needs to get Huang in here for a seminar on treating Stockholm Syndrome."

The sarcastic edge to his words, mirrored in the cold tone, got the message through to her. The last thing she wanted to do was let him go, but he was brushing her off, poking fun at her desperation. She wanted to smack him again, remind him how desperate he'd been when he'd been terrified and shaking from his nightmares, nightmares he'd only imagined.

Her nightmares were real.

Sniffling, trying to pretend she wasn't moved to tears simply from seeing her partner again, she dropped her arms and took a step back. Her eyes moved to his, looking for something, some confirmation that he remembered what they'd found, what they'd done at the cabin. The fear in his eyes was almost palpable, sending a cold shiver through her.

His voice was soft, directed at her again, as though everyone else had disappeared once more. "Did Fin tell you?"

Fin had told her a lot and it took her a moment to guess which piece of it Elliot meant in particular. She nodded. "About Kimberly."

He nodded back, his eyes intense, his worry sharpening his stare into a weapon that he might use to defend her. "How did he get out?"

Cragen's voice joined in, probably because he was the only one with the answer. "I'll get to that. But first, there's a little matter I'd like cleared up." He nodded toward the hallway, at another pair of bodies that had materialized out of thin air for all Olivia had been paying attention. "Let's all head into my office."

Cragen led the way, followed by a wide-eyed, scared looking Dickie, who was accompanied by a rather pissed off Kathy. As she passed the pair of them, her icy glare fell on Olivia.

"I guess you patched things up." Kathy's voice was so soft, her words so sudden and unexpected, that Olivia could have sworn she might have imagined the whole thing.

Confused, but curious, Elliot followed them, leaving Olivia, who was completely baffled and nearly seized with paranoia that somehow everyone knew everything, to bring up the rear. She slid into the cramped room and pushed the door shut behind her, thinking that if Elliot's soon-to-be ex-wife and son were about to accuse her of destroying their happy home she wanted to shrink the audience as much as she could. Her hand was shaking as she pulled it from the knob. Anxious that anyone might notice, she folded her hands behind her, leaning on the wall next to Elliot.

He shifted slightly as Cragen started talking, a tiny movement as he crossed one ankle over the other in a facade of calm. At least, she knew that was what it would look like if anyone happened to look. But the shift brought his arm within a hair's breadth of hers, offering her the only comfort he could at the moment.

Thankful for the gesture, she glanced at him, answering the slight quirk of his lips with a hint of a smile of her own.

And then her attention focused on Dickie, the teenager growing more and more nervous as the awkward silence stretched on. Finally, with a glance first at his mom, whose anger mercifully seemed to have faded, and then at Cragen, whose anger wasn't going anywhere, the boy's eyes darted up to his father's for a brief second before locking on the ground again.

"I'm really sorry, dad." His voice was so quiet it barely came out. He cleared his throat and spoke up a bit, still making the adults strain to hear his words. "I didn't know you'd get in trouble." He looked at his father again, his body almost imperceptibly shifting closer to his mother. "I didn't want to tell the truth cause I knew you'd be pissed as hell."

Olivia felt Elliot's body tense, and she knew he was fighting every instinct he had not to correct his son's language. Perhaps because he hadn't quite grasped what the boy was saying. But Olivia was putting the pieces together, understanding that whatever Dickie had to say was the same thing that made Cragen suspect there was more to the case than Elliot having gone crazy.

The realization made her tense as well, knowing whatever she was about to hear would feel like as much of a slap in the face as it would to Elliot.


	34. Chapter 33

Part Thirty-Three

Dickie's next words were mumbled apologetically at the floor, strung together in a rapid succession of half-voiced syllables. Olivia strained to hear, afraid that her relatively foreign presence might sap the courage the teenager appeared to have only been able to drum up under threat of torture from his mother. Mercifully, Elliot seemed to take her side, although Olivia recognized it was more likely a fatherly instinct than an attempt to include her in the conversation.

"Damn it, Dickie, stand up straight."

The boy shuffled his feet, lifting himself slightly while still maintaining a good view of the floor. "Dick, dad."

Even without the slight contact of their arms, Olivia would have recognized the sudden shift in Elliot's mood. The whole room, it seemed, began to shrink, trapping all of them with an untamed animal liable to strike at any moment. Olivia could hear the sound of her partner trying to suck enough air into his lungs that he might not explode. She could practically hear the screech of the gears in his head as he desperately fought to keep his control in mixed company. Certainly they'd all seen him lose his temper more than once, but perhaps it was the fact that they might all see him lose his temper at once that demanded the change.

As she waited for the storm, Olivia wondered why it was that she could easily hear every single inaudible sign of her partner while Dickie's spoken words had presented such a problem for her ears.

Elliot moved forward then, stepping directly in front of Dickie. "I said stand up straight, Dickie." Ignoring his son's request was an obvious display of power, one which the boy instantly both recognized and acquiesced to. But even as his shoulders squared and rose and his chin jutted out, his height appeared to shrink.

At seventeen, Dickie was still awaiting the one real gift of adolescence, the benefit of the rush of testosterone, the increased height and weight that might allow him to actually look like the adult he wanted to be treated as. Olivia felt bad for the kid, knowing all too well what it was like to have an angry Elliot staring her down. She didn't want to know what it was like to not even be able to stare him back down. As much of a curse as it had been at thirteen, she'd found the benefits of standing five-foot-ten, one of which was being able to look Elliot in the eye without feeling like a shrimp.

Satisfied that he'd once again intimidated the person who'd dared challenge him, Elliot fell back against the door beside Olivia. Although his shoulder brushed hers, she knew that time it wasn't intentional. He wasn't trying to make contact with her. He wasn't trying to comfort her. He probably didn't even remember she was there at the moment. His entire focus was on Dickie just then, trying to work out how the boy figured into the nightmare that had befallen him.

"I, uh,-" Dickie's mumbling was all cleared up, but he'd immediately come down with a bad case of stuttering. "I, well, we were, um, well-" His pallor changed, first paling to a frightening ghostly white as he looked at his father, then turning a sickening yellow which nearly matched the color of his fading bruised eye as he glanced toward his mother.

"Spit it out, Dickie!" Although Elliot was the one who gave voice to the words, Olivia knew he was speaking for all of the adults. Or at least the two who didn't know what he was going to say.

Finally, with a heavy sigh that left him a looking rather deflated, Dickie started a narrative that was actually comprised of sentences. "Me and Caitlyn were fooling around." It took all of Olivia's willpower not to correct the boy's wording, but she bit back the urging in her head, which sounded an awful lot like her mother, and held her tongue. She didn't dare interrupt after what it had taken to get the boy talking.

Unfortunately, Elliot had other ideas. "Who the hell is Caitlyn?"

Olivia very nearly answered, pointing out that Caitlyn's identity was fairly obvious given the context, and she would have joked about the stupidity of Elliot's question under other circumstances, but she realized she was being included mostly because she was Elliot's partner and partly because she probably wouldn't have let him leave her side, so once again, she remained silent.

"She's my girlfriend." The yellow color disappeared, except for around his eye, quickly replaced by a vibrant red hue.

Elliot's face was reddening as well, although it wasn't quite as painfully obvious as on his paler skinned son. "Your what?"

Kathy stepped in, stopping Elliot from running off the topic in a rampage because his son was dating. "Whether or not he can have a steady girlfriend is a discussion for another day, Elliot."

Rather than being dissuaded, Elliot switched arguments. "What do you mean you were 'fooling around'?"

Dickie's face blushed deeper, the flush running all the way down his neck. He turned to Kathy with pleading eyes. "Mom?"

Kathy's mercy was spent, apparently, and she faced him with her arms folded over her chest and a stoic expression. "Don't look at me. You're the one who started this mess."

Dickie's pathetic face turned back to Elliot, briefly lighting on Olivia. "Does she have to be here?"

She was reaching for the door when Elliot's voice sounded in a bark that even she wouldn't have had the nerve to question. "Yes."

Realizing no one was in the mood to humor him, Dickie's speed-talking talent resurfaced. "We were fooling around and I didn't want to stop and she did and I tried to talk her into it and I was kissing her and stuff and I thought she was just playing because she was going along with it and then she hit me."

Olivia wanted to laugh out loud at the sheer joy of hearing it confirmed, what she'd initially believed only to begin to doubt, that Elliot hadn't been the one to strike his son. Even with Richard White still loose and wanting her dead, Olivia felt like a gigantic weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

Elliot, on the other hand, wasn't a bit relieved. Before anyone could react, he was across the room, grabbing Dickie's collar, lifting the boy onto his toes as Elliot screamed in his face. "What the hell is wrong with you? What did I tell you? How many times did I say it? If she says stop, you stop! Damn you!" Elliot was shaking with rage, his fury so strong and clear that Olivia knew, right then, he'd have rather hit his son than hear Dickie had tried to rape his girlfriend.

Dickie, for all his wanting to be an adult, was sobbing hysterically. "Dad, I didn't! I didn't mean to! I wouldn't! I didn't hurt her! She's ok! She's not even still mad at me! Please, daddy, I didn't do anything!"

Kathy had stepped forward, but froze seeing Elliot's rage. Olivia barely knew the kid, but she'd made a career out of reading people and she believed Dickie's story - that he hadn't meant to push the girl and that he hadn't done enough to cause any damage. She usually fared better than most other cops when it came to calming Elliot down, and though she had no idea how things had been between her partner and his wife when they'd been married, it looked like his soon-to-be ex-wife wasn't about to step in.

She reached out, placing her hand on Elliot's forearm, feeling the way he was shaking, knowing it wasn't from the effort of lifting the skinny boy. "Elliot, stop, listen to him."

She heard a gasp from Kathy as Elliot turned toward her, as though Kathy thought he might turn on his partner for interfering. Instead of an angry shout or whatever Kathy might have expected, Elliot only stared at Olivia, his eyes searching hers for any indication that she was misleading him.

She squeezed his arm, bringing his attention back to that small bit of contact. "Elliot, listen to what he has to say."

His hands immediately released Dickie, as though Elliot had only just realized what he was doing. He rubbed his eyes, the rage dissipating and revealing an exhausted looking man in its wake. "Jesus, Dickie, what possessed you to think she was kidding?"

Sniffling, trying to pretend he wasn't crying at the same time, Dickie shrugged. "She was laughing and stuff. She sounded like she was playing."

Elliot's eyes locked on Dickie's, the intensity of the stare causing Olivia to shiver even though she wasn't involved. "What did I tell you, Dickie?"

Fresh tears spilled over Dickie's cheeks. "I know, dad, I know. I'm sorry. I told her I was sorry and she said it was ok cause she taught me not to try it again."

But Elliot's stare didn't waver. "What did I tell you?"

The boy looked down, once again toeing an imaginary spot on the floor and whispering. "Never."

"What?" Elliot's voice was sharp and hard and Olivia very nearly interceded again.

Dickie looked up, meeting Elliot's eyes and nodding, sorrow written all over his face. "I know. You said never, ever think a girl is playing. She says stop, I stop, I know." He sniffled again, looking more and more like the child Olivia remembered with every tear. "I swear, I won't ever do it again."

"Never again." Elliot reached out, lifting Dickie's chin up until their eyes met again. "Not just the ones that can defend themselves, do you hear me?" He didn't wait for the nod of understanding. "Don't you ever pull something like that again, or so help me, I'll kill you myself."

After a long tense silence, Elliot leaned back against the door and let out a breath. Olivia knew his attention was lost and so brought up the question that lingered. "How the hell did IAB get involved?" Her gaze moved from her boss to Dickie, who was so mortified he couldn't even meet her glance. "How did a fight between you and your girlfriend wind up with IAB questioning your dad?"

Dickie wiped at the last of his tears and spoke to the floor. "My homeroom teacher saw my face and asked who hit me." He looked up, found Olivia's eyes on him, and turned back to the tiles. "I would have told her the truth, but she asked me in front of the whole class!"

Olivia couldn't hold back the laugh that bubbled forth. "And you didn't want to admit you'd been beaten up by a girl."

Elliot answered with the sort of authoritative tone that came from experience. "Liv, a seventeen-year-old boy does not announce to his class that he got beaten up by a girl unless he wants to get his ass kicked every single day."

She turned to him, her mouth open in shock. "You condone him nearly getting you suspended?"

"I'd rather he hadn't done anything to deserve getting beat up over in the first place."

Kathy cleared her throat, drawing the attention back to her. "As soon as he told me the truth, I dragged him in here to tell you, but, uh, apparently, you were out of town."

The tense moments listening to Dickie's story had pushed their time at the cabin to the back of her mind. But as soon as Kathy mentioned it, Olivia's mind filled with images and memories and her face colored in a fierce blush. She was not ready for a show-down with Kathy. Not when she wasn't entirely sure just what the hell was going on with Elliot. Suddenly Olivia was staring at the floor like Dickie had, hoping it might open up and swallow her into somewhere next week.

Elliot moved slightly in front of her, perhaps because he sensed her discomfort, perhaps because he wanted to prevent Kathy was realizing what made Olivia so uncomfortable. "Thanks for bringing him in." He looked at Dickie. "You give Caitlyn a call. Tell her your really sorry, that's she's welcome to come over and kick the crap out of you again, and then tell her you'll give her a call when you're twenty-one, cause that's the next time you'll be seeing her."

"But, dad-" Dickie's argument was cut off when Kathy pulled him through the door.

Cragen, who'd been watching and waiting through the whole scene, finally spoke. "After Dickie explained that you hadn't hit him, and Kathy mentioned something about some sleeping pills the doctor gave you, I started to suspect that you weren't the man we were after."

Elliot shuffled forward until he could collapse into a chair. "I can't believe he would do that."

Olivia sat beside him, stopping herself from reaching out for him because she wasn't sure how it would be received and because she didn't exactly feel like explaining it to Cragen either way. "He's a kid, El. He was scared." She didn't know why he was having trouble believing what he'd just defended moments earlier.

Elliot looked at her, baffled. "Huh?" And then he shrugged. "Oh, I don't care about him blaming me; it's the part about the girl I don't get. I told him a million times-"

"Elliot, he's a teenage boy. Hormones more or less erase any common sense in their heads. He got the message though." Olivia imagined the horror of not only getting hit by Caitlyn, but then having to tell the story multiple times to his parents and Cragen and even herself was something that Dickie wouldn't soon forget.

He kept shaking his head. "I told him so many times he'd just roll his eyes and tell me himself."

Cragen cleared his throat again, as if to remind them they were still sitting in front of him. "Elliot, I did follow up with Caitlyn. She's fine. She was more concerned that Dickie wouldn't go out with her anymore than she was about her virtue."

When Elliot didn't look up, Olivia waved her hand dismissively in his direction. "Don't bother, Don. Once he gets it in his head that he's done something wrong, no one's going to convince him otherwise."

Cragen smiled. "You're speaking from experience?"

"Well, I'm here and there's a convicted rapist and murder coming after me, but he decided I was better off here." She shrugged, knowing that while she was somewhat safe in the station, it was nowhere near as safe as the cabin. Not in her mind, at least. She glanced at Elliot, who was still shaking his head at himself, and turned back to her boss. "Did you get anywhere with the DA?"

"Do you really want to know?"

It was clear from his tone that she didn't. And still, she knew she had to hear it.


	35. Chapter 34

Part Thirty-Four

Cragen situated himself in his chair, frowning unhappily at some paperwork in front of him. Olivia had the impression he was trying very hard not to look at her, and the sick, guilty feeling reemerged, taking its place in her gut, twisting her stomach in knots while whispering to her that Cragen, like everyone else, knew precisely what she and Elliot had been up to at the cabin.

She swallowed hard and glanced at Elliot, hoping to at least share the miserable feeling and the unbearable knowledge that they were about to get blasted, possibly fired for their behavior. But Elliot wasn't looking at her. Elliot, who'd apparently completely forgotten about their extracurricular activities, was still grimacing at the floor, muttering to himself about being a failure as a father.

She suspected that she would somehow wind up assuming the blame for having run off and slept with her partner when she'd really been about the last to blame. Blame Elliot for dragging her off at gunpoint. Blame Dickie for confusing the issue of Elliot's trustworthiness. Blame Richard White for coming after her in the first place. Fuck, blame Cragen for introducing them. Of anyone, Olivia believed she was the least responsible.

Although, when she thought about it, it was abundantly clear in her memory that she'd been the one to crawl on top of him. He'd been perfectly within his typical ass-backwards behavior, trying to protect someone he was worried about without giving a single thought to what might happen. And she knew, despite his terrified screams in the throws of his nightmares, he would have spent that night alone on his side of the bed without daring to touch her. He'd been in control and rational since he'd stopped taking those pills; he hadn't had any memory lapses either.

Even when he'd been taking them, he'd been impaired, his inhibitions lowered further than they ever normally would have been, but he hadn't crossed that line. When he had made advances, she couldn't be sure where those evenings would have ended if left up to him. The first night they'd been at the cabin, he'd turned her away. She couldn't swear he wouldn't have wound up doing the same thing those other times, when she'd thought he was drunk. It was entirely possible that he would have gotten control of himself and walked away on his own.

He was just Elliot, fucked up and confused and determined to do whatever he was determined to do at any given moment.

She couldn't blame him for thinking she was out of her mind. She wasn't, but she easily understood why she might look that way to Elliot. She certainly seemed to be acting that way. She knew what she felt for him, had finally identified what was at the heart of how he was able to make her so crazy. Unfortunately, that startling revelation had come at the tail end of a ridiculously stressful period that truly tested the bond between them. Before she realized what she shared with him, she had to question him, his integrity, his honesty. And the poor man hadn't been privy to any of the thoughts or revelations she'd had.

He'd only watched his partner turn her back on him, only to change her mind and have sex with him, leading him to firmly believe she was either playing him or she was losing it. She was starting to think she ought to be thankful that Richard White had come after her. She didn't want him out killing people, particularly not herself, but if he hadn't reappeared, she and Elliot never would have wound up in that cabin. Judging from past experience, without White's intervention, she might never have even found out that Elliot and Kathy were getting a divorce.

Although, according to Kathy, Elliot had left her for another woman, and according to Elliot, the other woman was Olivia herself, therefore it stood to reason that Elliot would possibly, probably, told her. Eventually.

With a dejected sigh, she realized she was back at square one. It took all the courage she could muster up to look at her boss without blushing. "How did that fucker get released?"

Cragen's sigh echoed hers as he slapped the top file closed and shoved it to the side, causing a cascade of papers and forms to spill out of the sloppy pile. He glanced at it for a second as though he was contemplating tidying them back up, but in the end, he leaned back against his chair and folded his arms over his chest. "Apparently, some months back, Richard White contacted Greyleck claiming to have information regarding a string of particularly violent rapes being committed by a gang in Rikers. He was looking for a deal, after serving almost ten years as a model prisoner."

Elliot woke up from his previous fixation, his face once again red with anger. "Ten years? The bastard's a murderer."

Cragen nodded, his face conveying his agreement. "We all know he's a murderer, but he never confessed to killing Karen Fitzgerald. At trial, he admitted that he'd raped her, but swore up one end and down the other that he didn't kill her. The witness who saw him at Louise Billings' apartment refused to testify because White knew where he lived, so the DA never felt there was enough evidence to try him for her murder. The jury only found him guilty of manslaughter for Fitzgerald."

Shaking his head, Elliot glanced at Olivia before sighing. "Shit, we're lucky he was away for ten years." His hands balled into fists in his lap and Olivia could almost feel how badly he wanted to hit something or, more likely, someone. "He admitted to the rape. It should have been a slam dunk that the son of a bitch at least rot in prison. What fucking jury would have believed his bullshit?"

Olivia could remember quite well the wide smile White had turned on them when they'd met in his office. She and Elliot hadn't fallen for it, but most others had, at least at first. "He was a charmer, Elliot, remember?"

He snorted and folded his arms, suddenly reminding Olivia of a petulant child who hadn't gotten his way. "You mean some asshole on the jury was a complete sucker."

Cragen shoved at his papers again, taking out his anger on the only thing available. "More to the point, Greyleck, being the crusader that she is," Cragen's mouth contorted around the words as if he really had to force them to come out. "Well, stopping prison rapes is one of her things, so, there you go."

"I don't believe it." Olivia shook her head like it might help the facts settle into place. "She let him out? He raped and murdered an ADA. What the hell is wrong with her?"

"I intend to ask her that, that is, of course, if the DA's office ever makes her available." Cragen gave his phone a withering look as though it had been the one to lie to him. "Ever since word leaked out about what happened, Greyleck's been very, very busy and completely unreachable. The DA assured me that, misplaced loyalties aside, we should not be holding Greyleck accountable for the actions of an obsessed murderer."

Elliot stood up with a burst of energy he couldn't hold back. "And just who the fuck can we hold accountable? He certainly wasn't in a position to attack Olivia while he was behind bars, was he?"

Between the tension rolling off Elliot in waves and her nerves, the unexpected knock at the door behind her nearly scared Olivia to death. She counted herself lucky that she'd been able to bite back the shriek of terror she'd felt welling up in her throat. Instead, her instincts told her that she was in danger and to seek safety.

Much to her chagrin, her instincts had directed her to practically jump into Elliot's arms in front of her boss and a slightly bemused Fin. If that embarrassment wasn't enough to kill her, Elliot had to open his mouth and draw attention to her actions.

"The ribs," he hissed. "Watch the ribs!"

Feeling somewhat betrayed by her partner's sudden lack of protective behavior, she scowled and stepped ever so slightly to the side in a pathetic, futile attempt to make the others think that she'd only meant to get up, not to cling to Elliot.

Cragen, who was being quite the gentleman about pretending that he noticed nothing amiss, cleared his throat and addressed Fin. "Something new?"

"I sent some uniforms to check out Kimberly Phillips' apartment, White's old house, a bunch of old addresses I found in the Fitzgerald file."

"Cut to the chase, Fin." Cragen, for all his pretending, was rather eager for a reason to get away from any more he might have to ignore. "What have you got?"

"Uniforms found a jimmied basement door at Louise Billing's old place. Said there was an odd smell too, but we warned them off. I told them to wait for us, figured if White's there he might have the place rigged or something."

Olivia barely heard half of what Fin was saying. Years of experience taught her that what most people described as "an odd smell" turned out to be a decaying body; but she knew the uniforms would have recognized that smell. It wasn't one that a person could forget. Regardless, she felt a lump in her throat forming, wondering how many had already died because White was after her. Not only that, but she wondered how many more might die as well. She didn't intend to be one of them.

"Let's go." She was halfway to the door before she heard Elliot's voice.

"No way, Olivia, that's exactly what he wants. It's too dangerous." And there he was, the scared, caring man she'd glimpsed, the very same one who'd run off and hid, leaving her to reason with her unreasonable partner.

She still wanted to slap him. For running hot and cold on her. For not listening, not trusting her. For bringing her back to face the danger he then proceeded to warn her against facing. She turned back, her eyes firm and resolved. "I'm not going to run from him for the rest of my life."

"You go after him and the rest of your life might not be that long." His voice was loud, angry, but, Olivia realized with a bit of a shock, he wasn't trying to hide his worry for her. Not from her. Not from anyone.

Cragen crossed around his desk, offering her gun, the one he'd confiscated from Elliot what seemed like millennia earlier. "You're not going in there first. And you're definitely not going in alone."

Hearing what he thought was an invitation, Elliot moved toward his partner, only to stop short at Cragen's command.

"Call your lawyer, Stabler. Make sure she'll be there tomorrow morning." The older man stepped forward, assuming what was usually Elliot's place next to Olivia. "You'll be transferred as late as possible, but you'll have to go to the courthouse from lockup."

Elliot stared, looking completely baffled at the idea that he wasn't yet technically cleared, looking alarmed when it finally sunk in that he wasn't going with them. "What? You can't be serious."

Cragen shook his head. "I can't give you a gun. I can't let you leave the precinct. I'm not about to let you go off half-cocked after the man who attacked your partner and framed you for it." His glance bounced between Olivia and Elliot as a smile formed on his face. "I'm gullible, not stupid."

Thoroughly mortified for the umpteenth time of the day, Olivia turned away, following Fin out of the office. But Elliot's words, the fear that prompted them, made her freeze.

"Don, don't let her out of your sight." In case his words hadn't told Cragen too much, his terrified expression filled in the rest. Olivia winced, knowing Elliot would hate himself for having given away so much. But Elliot wasn't concerned with the ramifications on himself or his career or even her career. He was scared that something was going to happen to her, that he wouldn't be there to protect her, the same relentless fear that plagued his dreams and drove him to the brink and convinced him to kidnap her in the first place.

Mercifully, the boss and Fin kept walking, gathering a good sized group to storm the house. But Olivia's feet didn't move. She could only stare back at Elliot, seeing how tortured he was at the thought that he had to stay behind.

Her reputation and the rumors that would undoubtedly spread were the last things on her mind. She just knew she couldn't walk away like that, not when it was dangerous, not when so much was left unresolved between them. She closed the distance between them, her arms sliding under his as they stretched toward her, her hands pressing against his back as she hugged him tight, bruised ribs be damned.

Just in case, she decided, she didn't want him to have any doubts. She turned her face into his, pressing her mouth against his ear. "I love you."

His lips grazed her cheek, giving her the closest he could get to a kiss with an audience. "Be careful." He didn't need to repeat that he loved her; his choked whisper said everything she needed to hear.

Knowing that her resolve to avenge Kimberly and Karen and Louise and her own attack would crumble with another moment in Elliot's arms, she pulled back sharply, turning away and jogging to catch up with the team Cragen had pulled together, trying to ignore the pain she felt for leaving her partner behind.


	36. Chapter 35

Part Thirty-Five

Olivia tried to keep herself calm. When that failed, she decided instead to exude calm so that at least the others in the car, Cragen, Munch, and Fin, wouldn't know how nervous she was. It wasn't the first time some bastard had come after her. And, god help her, it probably wouldn't be the last. But she really hoped that Elliot would be there the next time. It was much easier to convince herself that she was perfectly fine after putting up with Elliot's continuous inquiries as to her state of mind. Something about assuring Elliot she was fine made it so. Or maybe it was just Elliot's presence that made her feel better.

Instead of Elliot's perceptive prying, the car was silent. Everyone knew that she wasn't ok, that she wasn't about to admit it, and that she wasn't going to be dissuaded from chasing down White. They didn't bother asking questions they knew the answers to; unlike Elliot, their minds were on other things. It wasn't that they didn't care that she was all right; it was that her well-being fell short of being all-encompassing to the guys with whom she worked.

The anxiety gave way to embarrassment as soon as they arrived on the scene. The SWAT team was there, as was the ESU, a pair of K-9 units, not to mention the couple dozen uniforms milling about. The rest of the building, what had once been a house and long since divided into several apartments, was emptied, displaced residents standing unhappily on the far side of a police barricade. It was late enough that some of them were in their pajamas, boots and coats haphazardly thrown over top, shivering and staring at the spectacle.

Olivia felt like an ass, knowing it was all because of her. Some fucking psycho was after her and that was the only reason for the audience. She knew, if White wasn't there, if the damn building wasn't rigged to explode, she'd feel even dumber for putting so many people out of their way.

As if she wasn't mortified enough, the SWAT captain, who was on his way to talk to Cragen, stopped in front of Olivia and snorted, somehow knowing she was the reason for it all. That reaction alone was enough to throw her back into her paranoid state, making her think that somehow White had followed them to the cabin and had informed everyone in the city how they'd passed the time. She crossed her arms tight over her chest and looked to Fin, trying to tell herself that there weren't hundreds of eyes burning holes through her.

Fin shrugged and stared at the group in front of them. "Ever felt like everyone was staring at you?"

"I thought it was just me." With a gulp, she tried to force back the frog in her throat, reminding herself that acting scared and nervous would only draw more attention in the long run.

Cragen came around the car, addressing his team as the SWAT captain walked away. "White's gone. The place is clear of any explosives, but it's not pretty." Then his eyes fell on Olivia. "You might want to sit this one out."

Olivia shook her head, holding his eyes with resolve. She'd already left the safety of Elliot back at the precinct. She saw no point in hiding now that she was already there. "I'm going in." After all, whatever it was that wasn't pretty in there was because of her. Because of White's fixation on her.

Cragen nodded, leading the group through the crowd of cops who were still staring like their lives depended on it. Just as Olivia stepped onto the sidewalk, the sound of a van pulling up distracted her. And then she knew, reading the familiar words on the side of the medical examiner's van, that what Cragen hadn't mentioned was that someone else was dead. Yet another person dead because of her. But rather than rattling her, it urged her forward, demanding that she discover what had been done in her name.

As soon as she started down the set of steps leading to the busted basement door, she knew what they'd meant by the "odd smell." It did smell like death and decay, but something worse than that too, although how anything could be worse was beyond her. While Fin and Cragen covered their noses, Munch decided he was going to interview the tenants. But Olivia plowed forward, noticing the stench, yet not quite grasping that it was bothering her. She pushed past Cragen, wanting to hurry up and see what there was to see, know what it was that White had left behind for her to find, needing to get it over with as soon as possible. She wanted to get her damn hands on him before he could hurt anyone else.

The basement, aside from the splintered wood by the deadbolt and the hideous aroma, was indistinguishable from any other basement on Earth. A water heather. A boiler. A freezer. A pile of dusty sporting equipment. She took the steps two at a time, climbing onto the first floor. The door at the top of the stairs opened into the kitchen, a normal, run of the mill kitchen. A quick look to either side ruled out there being anything of note, so she led on. The dining room and living room were more of the same, nothing strange, nothing out of place. As she crossed the hall on the far side of the living room, she noticed the small barricade White had built inside the front door, ensuring that he'd have ample warning before someone made it inside.

The smell was getting stronger, making her eyes water from the effort of continuing to breathe it. But she continued on. The first doorway she came to on the left was a bathroom. It would have been normal enough, except for mess explained by an opened box of hair dye, brown stains splattered all over the room, and the nasty smell of week old mixed dye coming from the black plastic bowl in the sink.

The next room was on the right, housing what had once been a small office. The computer desk and chair were there. The printer stand with a half-used ream of paper sat adjacent to it. There was a small table by the window supporting a desperately thirsty spider plant. There was a cork board tacked on the wall by the phone, which probably once held notes and reminders of bills to pay or calls to make. But the walls had been plastered over, cork board, artwork, even the shade on the window.

Pictures. Hundreds, thousands of pictures. Newspaper clippings too. About ninety percent of them were of Olivia. The rest, grouped in a small section by the door, were of Elliot. She barely noticed those, her eyes were locked on the images of herself, shots of her doing everything under the sun, some old, some new. As she looked from one wall to the next, she realized there was a distinct pattern. Some of the photos were ancient, ones he'd managed to save somehow from the first time he'd stalked her. The newspaper clippings came next, obviously the only way he'd been able to keep tabs on her while he'd been locked up. And then there were the current ones, lots and lots of them, shots of her from every angle, close ups, full body shots, pictures of her apartment, even some of her at crimes scenes and talking to victims. Finally, at the far right side of the collage, were the pictures that took her breath away.

There she was, walking out of Chuck's bar, a very drunk Elliot leaning on her. Then her pulling his keys from his pocket. Then Elliot's hands on her waist. Her pulling away. Elliot kissing her, biting her neck, grabbing her ass. She barely saw the rest, where she kneed him in the groin and threw him in the car. She realized how very set up they had been. Suddenly, her eyes turned to the shots of Elliot, searching them for proof of what she already knew. Sure enough, there were pictures of Elliot coming and going from an unfamiliar apartment, certainly the new place she knew nothing about, pictures of his car so White could find a similar one.

She knew White had been following her, that was part of stalking someone, but she had no idea how long it had been going on. Long enough for White to know Elliot had moved out and was behaving strangely, long enough to know that Olivia wasn't exactly getting along with him. He'd played them both, driving a wedge between them, leaving enough "proof" for Olivia to finger Elliot. And once Elliot was in prison, half White's mission would be accomplished. All that would have been left would be to attack and kill Olivia, which would have been easy without Elliot there looking out for her.

She started to shake when she realized how close she'd come to becoming his victim. It was only Elliot's desire to take care of her that had saved her. Apparently even Richard White wasn't crazy enough to think that Elliot would kidnap Olivia at gunpoint.

Shaking her head, she ignored the sounds of the rest of her team taking in the sights. She shoved past Fin and Cragen, determined to see what else was there. Munch was just outside the room, sounding as though he'd been talking for a little while, although she wasn't sure if he'd been talking to her or anyone.

"-same stuff from the third floor tenants really. The Claytons were quiet, kept to themselves, probably because everyone talked about them for taking the apartment someone had been murdered in."

Olivia looked at him, suspecting he was waiting for an answer. "Huh?" The shock of seeing the collage had left her unable to come up with something better.

Munch smiled like he always did when he felt he was being taken advantage of. "The Claytons, Fred and Ann, lived here, but no one's seen them in a few weeks."

Barely hearing the second time around, Olivia pushed open the next door on the right, immediately clapping her hands over her mouth and nose. Turning back to Munch and wishing she could banish the sight from her memory, she pulled the door shut.

"Found them." At least she'd also discovered where some of the odor was coming from - the two bodies, wrapped in plastic, taped at the ankles, knees, wrists, and necks, probably done so moving them would be easier. She didn't even want to know how they'd died. They were dealing with Richard White, so it was undoubtedly grisly, violent, painful, and cruel.

Unable to spare another bit of guilt for the two additional victims, hapless ones who'd simply had the misfortune of living where Richard White wanted to stay, Olivia steeled herself for the last room. The third bedroom, still familiar enough after a decade that she could still see the bloody sight of Louise Billings lying on her bed. She twisted the door knob, trying to tell herself it was going to be awful, yet somehow knowing awful wasn't nearly going to cover it.

The stench was magnified a thousand times as she opened the door, so much that she wondered how the hell the other tenants hadn't noticed something was amiss. The bedroom had been lovely once, decorated carefully with beautiful, expensive furniture, exquisitely framed paintings, and a color palate that told Olivia the Clayton's had put out the cash for a decorator.

But in the middle of their perfectly made up bed were stains, stains the filled in the missing piece of the smell. Horrified, Olivia took in the ropes tied to both sides of the headboard and the footboard, knowing a woman, Ann or Kimberly or possibly some random victim, had spent a long, painful time there, probably raped by White, and then left there so long she'd had no choice but to relieve herself and continue to lie in it.

Thinking that anything else would be an improvement, Olivia's eyes moved to the vanity, where a wicker stool sat in front of the matching table. Long pieces of blond hair littered the carpet around the stool, a dark stain on the cushion revealing that poor, pathetic Kimberly hadn't even been able to clean herself up before White played beauty salon. Even worse, there was a picture of Olivia resting against the mirror, blown up to eight by ten, that White clearly used as his template for Kimberly's cut.

Olivia turned again, hoping to get out of the room before she got sick and broke down in front of everyone, but instead of the escape she sought, she found yet another torturous sight. The Clayton's television was ensconced in an armoire whose doors had been left open, revealing the gory sight of Kimberly's missing hands, carefully folded around the remote control and left sitting on top of the TV. A note was taped to the screen, dictating that someone, and Olivia knew she was meant to be that someone, 'press play.'

Munch was beside her, fishing a pair of latex gloves from his pocket. Olivia grabbed one, pressed the play button without disturbing the remote and pulled the note off the screen. Tears came to her eyes as the image of Kimberly was illuminated in front of her. Her hair was cut, jagged and crazy like a four-year-old had done it. She was crying, half screaming, her clothes ripped and her body bruised. Her eyes kept darting from the camera to the person behind it, shaking from terror and pain and who knew what else.

She began speaking, words that Olivia couldn't even make out, her mouth contorted in pain and humiliation and desperate hope that she might stay alive. With a sharp warning from White's angry voice, Kimberly sniffled and tried again, speaking a bit more clearly the second time.

"I deserve to suffer and die a terrible, lonely death." She paused for a moment, the words maybe sinking in and telling her that her hopes were certain to be dashed.

White's voice barked out harshly. "Why?" Kimberly only sobbed, pulling another shout from White. "Why do you deserve to die, you stupid whore?"

Sobbing steadily, Kimberly looked back at the camera. "Because I helped Olivia Benson."

And then a hand came out of nowhere, cracking Kimberly across the face, leaving a red mark on her cheek. "Say it like I told you, bitch!"

Kimberly looked at him, wincing, ducking as though she expected to be hit again at any moment. "Because I helped that miserable bitch Olivia Benson."

The camera turned then, revealing a smiling, utterly pleased Richard White, looking exactly the same and yet more evil simultaneously. "I've been thinking about you for ten years, Olivia, planning how we'll rekindle our relationship. I'm coming for you soon." He smirked, then winked, before the picture when blank.


	37. Chapter 36

Part Thirty-Six

They had been at Louise Billings' former residence for the better part of three hours. Crime Scene had come in shortly after them, photographing everything for posterity, although Olivia knew she'd never have to rely on their documentation to remember the details of what she'd seen. Just like every detail of the first case where she'd encountered Richard White, she knew that every single nuance of the house of horrors was forever filed in her brain. She would never be able to scour away the memories, the experience, and so her only recourse was to promise herself that they would find White before he hurt anyone else, that they would put him away for good.

Even though the bodies and some of the evidence had already been carted away, the stench lingered. She doubted anything would clear it out, short of burning the building to the ground. Finally, after she'd toiled for a solid two hours without quite being able to breathe, she retreated outside for a break. Fin had done so a few minutes earlier and she found him leaning against the hood of the cruiser. She stepped up next to him, sliding herself onto the hood to relieve her aching legs, the product of having squatted for two hours while sifting through all manner of crap in the apartment. Mercifully someone had sent the unhappy residents away and most of the cops had been called to other locations. The handful that was left weren't paying undue attention to her.

Fin offered her the half empty bottle of water he'd been drinking. "Want some?"

She nodded, taking the bottle and greedily swallowing most of what was left before she even noticed it was lukewarm. With a grimace, she pulled it from her mouth and glared at it. A cold drink of water would have been so very welcome. Warm water just made her nauseous. Still, it had been hours since she'd had anything at all and she wasn't going to complain. "Thanks."

He nodded vaguely off in the distance towards some of the RMPs parked in front of the house. "I sent a couple of uniforms to notify Rosalyn Phillips."

With everything that had happened, Olivia had completely forgotten about the poor woman who had horrible news to receive. "It's probably better than one of us. We know too much about White and what he did to her." A hysterical mother begging for details on the murder of her daughter might have been able to drag far too much information out of the exhausted detectives.

"She'll find out anyway. The brass is apparently putting a statement together for the media about White."

Olivia grimaced again, wishing no one had to find out something so awful. "And she's sure to realize he's the same White as from White Phillips Realty." She passed the water bottle back and forth between her hands. "Damn." Additional guilt sank her shoulders even lower.

"It's not your fault, Liv. She turned the bastard in and busted his alibi wide open. He had it in for her too." He tried to offer her a smile, but she wasn't looking.

She shook her head, not hearing a word of the attempt to comfort her. "We made her talk. We threatened her with the IRS. Who the fuck would have kept lying facing a damn audit that was damn sure to break them? If we hadn't forced her hand, she never would have given him up. She was too scared of him."

"And one day she would have wanted away from the creep, even with the tax-free income. Or she wouldn't have laughed at one of his jokes. Or she would have looked at him the wrong way. He's a nut, Liv, something would have set him off. She was doomed from the moment she crossed paths with him and you didn't have a damn thing to do with that." Taking the bottle from her hands, Fin finished what was left and nodded toward the house. "Back to cataloging body-building supplements. Already counted six cases worth of empty cans." Body-building supplements weren't the only strange thing that White had collected. They'd also found three different brands of blue contact lenses, which Olivia realized had been collected in White's search for the right color with which to fool her into thinking her partner was trying to rape her.

Olivia didn't reply as Fin walked away, instead staring at her hands and wondering if she was every bit as doomed as Kimberly had been, wondering if maybe the dominos had been set in motion for her and Kimberly at the same time, wondering if all Elliot had succeeded in doing was postponing the inevitable. Thinking of his name sent a sharp pain shooting through her, adding another brick of guilt to the tower she was building on her shoulders. She'd been there for hours, _hours_, and she hadn't thought about him. She glanced at her watch, knowing that at almost two in the morning Elliot had already been transferred to lock up, trapped with the scum of the Earth, suffering just because he'd tried to protect her, a task that she was really starting to believe had been futile.

She shoved the thought aside, pushing herself off the car and to her feet, determined to go back inside, find something that would lead her to White, and spare her anymore self pity. She didn't have time for self pity. And she knew, sure as shit, that Elliot wasn't sitting there wallowing and feeling bad for himself. No, he was probably pacing one end of the cell to the other, chomping at the bit to get out of there, undoubtedly because he wanted to protect her himself. She wasn't going to sit there and feel helpless. She owed Elliot that much.

A car pulled up to the house, the occupant showing something to the officer who tried to move them along. Curiosity got the best of her and Olivia stopped short, waiting to see who was both so late to the party and had the identification to get past the officer.

She barely knew the woman, but Olivia was still able to instantly identify the blonde who emerged from the car, sporting uncharacteristic jeans under her coat, yet still with her hair pulled back tightly in a bun. For a brief, vengeful moment, Olivia thought it might be fair for White to claim just one more victim, if only because she really had brought it on herself.

But by the time Greyleck had picked her way through the dirty snow to Olivia's side, she was already feeling bad for thinking such a thing. No one, not even someone as infuriating as Greyleck, deserved to fall victim to Richard White. Still, the woman had some questions to answer and Olivia held a harsh glare at Greyleck's smile.

In keeping with her normal behavior, Greyleck ignored the less than welcoming glare. "Sorry I'm late. I was busy working through all the paperwork to get Elliot out first thing." Her eyes narrowed the slightest bit, a smug grin tugging at her lips. "I figured you'd rather I took care of that first."

It was all Greyleck's fault Elliot was in prison, Olivia decided, it had nothing at all to do with her turning him in to Cragen. Gathering all of her strength, she told herself that pummeling Greyleck into a coma would not help and would likely only delay Elliot's release. Not killing her, however, didn't mean she had to be nice. "What the fuck are you doing here?" It wasn't often that they needed an ADA at a crime scene, even rarer did they actually like having one there.

If Greyleck noticed how very unhappy Olivia was with her, she didn't show it. She smiled and stepped ahead of her on the path to the basement door. "I'm a hands-on type. You should know that by now."

Olivia rolled her eyes at the back of the woman's head. "Wow, a hands-on crusader. Can you walk on water too?" Using her long legs to her advantage, she surged ahead of Greyleck and descended the steps to the door. The few minutes she'd spent outside had been enough to let her forget how truly awful the smell was, but she'd barely gotten to the door when it assailed her again, seeming to reach into her lungs and squeeze them closed. Determined not to miss a beat in front of Greyleck, she tried to fight the urge to gag.

Greyleck didn't try. One step into the basement and she clapped her hands over her nose and mouth. "Oh my god, what is that?"

"White's a murderer, you know, or did that somehow slip your attention when you were letting him go free?"

Rather than being chastised as Olivia expected, Greyleck put her hands on her hips and squared off with her. "He wasn't convicted of murder and he had good information on other crimes. Ten years inside and he didn't break a single rule. And when you take into consideration that the file made almost no mention of him stalking you, how the hell was I supposed to know he was any more dangerous than anyone else I make deals with? Besides, he was out almost three months before he went after you. How should I have known they were related?"

"He brutally raped and murdered the ADA who'd prosecuted him for date rape. Didn't that stand out as a bit crazier than the run of the mill rapist?" Olivia didn't want to consider that clamming up about the phone calls and the flowers in the official report had come back to bite her. At the time, Elliot had warned her it was a bad idea to leave it out, but she hadn't wanted to hear it. And now that it had come back to bite her in the ass, she didn't want to hear it anymore than she had before. No more than Greyleck wanted to hear that her deal had come back to bite her.

"Fine, you want to blame it all on me, go ahead, but please, tell me this: how the hell did you get White and Elliot mixed up? Seriously, White's so fucking scrawny I couldn't believe he survived ten years in prison. In fact, he lost so much weight in the last couple of months the prison doctors thought he was sick." The look on Greyleck's face clearly indicated victory, as though Olivia's confusion regarding her attacker was a far worse mistake.

The mention of her attack brought the memory immediately to the surface. She remembered all too easily how overwhelmingly strong the bastard had been, how wide his shoulders were, how strong his arms were. "The man who crawled on top of me was not scrawny. If he hadn't been the size of Elliot, I would have had a much easier time fighting him off!"

Greyleck snorted as she stepped around Olivia. "White weighed maybe one-fifty. He was skinny as a damn rail when I met with him. Maybe you're just not as strong as you think."

"That's not fucking possible." Her mind was reeling as she trailed behind Greyleck up the stairs and into the kitchen. The man who'd been on top of her had been anything but thin. He'd been strong and heavy and bulky and thick. Could she have been wrong? Could she have been so scared that she thought he was so much bigger than she was? Could it possibly have been someone other than White who came after her?

Her eyes fell on the open cabinet above the counter, revealing the collection of protein supplements Fin had mentioned. The labels boasted ridiculous claims of how strong they would make a person, the proof of which was a picture of a man, every muscle visible and chiseled. She grabbed one of the jars and thrust it at Greyleck. "No wonder he waited three months. He needed to gain enough weight to impersonate Elliot."

Greyleck looked at the evidence Olivia offered, then shrugged. "Then why the cancer-stricken diet before he got out if he was just going to gain it all back?"

"He planned it all along." Olivia shoved the can back in the cabinet, leading the way toward the hideous collage White had created. She searched the wall by the door, finding an old picture of Elliot and pointing at it. "Elliot was a lot thinner ten years ago."

Greyleck studied the picture, as though she couldn't quite believe the difference. "That's Elliot?" Olivia nodded. "I guess it's better than a convertible."

Olivia stared. "What?"

"Mid-life crisis." Greyleck's eyes shifted to a more recent picture of Elliot, a smile lighting her face. "Much better than a convertible."

An unexpected flare of jealousy rose up at Greyleck's appreciative stare, leaving Olivia to fight back the urge to declare that Elliot belonged to her.

Then Greyleck's eyes met Olivia's, a conspiratorial laugh filling the air as she lowered her voice to a whisper. "And he'd getting divorced. Put in a good word for me, would you?" Greyleck left the room then, having seen all she needed to, going off instead to search for Cragen.

Olivia could only stare after her with an angry glare, too busy hating the other woman to care that there was at least one person in the city that hadn't gotten the memo about what she and Elliot had been doing at the cabin.


	38. Chapter 37

Part Thirty-Seven

Although the sleeping pill Elliot had slipped her was long gone, Olivia could have sworn that she was still feeling its effects. Or perhaps she was simply suffering from not sleeping for two solid nights, granted the lack of sleep the first night had been due to activities far more pleasurable than both sleeping and searching a crime scene. But even if she had been given the choice, as the sky began to lighten into morning, Olivia would have infinitely preferred sleep. Though she had to admit sleeping snuggled soundly in Elliot's arms would certainly have been welcome too.

It seemed her body no longer trusted her judgment, staging a coup and abandoning consciousness while Cragen was driving the group back to the precinct. She didn't even remember closing her eyes - she was watching the scenery one moment, and the next, Cragen's hand was on her shoulder, shaking her awake. The short nap did nothing to relieve her need for sleep. Instead, it was intensified, leaving Olivia unable to stifle her yawns.

Cragen glanced at her, offering a weak smile. "I'd send you home for some rest..."

She nodded. "But I wouldn't go anyway."

"Not to mention that you probably won't ever go back there again."

Until she heard his reference, she hadn't really given the state of her apartment much thought. In all the confusion between Elliot getting back from the hospital, Dickie's confession, and the discovery of White's little house of horrors, she'd forgotten about how and where Kimberly had actually been murdered.

While Olivia had been at the cabin, White had destroyed her home. It wasn't an invasion that would be easily erased, wiped clean with a new mattress and sheets. After she'd been attacked there, even when she'd feared it had been Elliot who'd ruined the sanctity of her bedroom, it had ceased to be the calming, comforting retreat from her job it had once been.

Knowing that White had been there, that he'd murdered Kimberly there, Olivia wasn't sure how she'd find the strength to be there long enough to retrieve her things. The idea alone sent chills through her, but she was far from financially secure enough to find a new apartment and replace everything she owned. Besides, she rationalized, White had already taken enough from her. She wasn't about to let him steal everything she had left. She knew she'd just have to drag Elliot with her, not that he was likely to stay behind anyway, and draw strength from him while she packed up what she could salvage.

She nodded at Cragen, afraid she might actually fall asleep on her feet in front of him. "I'm going to lie down in the crib." She only got as far as lifting her foot to take a step before she turned back. "Greyleck said she got Elliot moved up to first thing."

"Don't worry, I won't let you miss it." Cragen's eyes moved over to Fin. "Go upstairs. Keep an eye on her."

"I don't need a baby-sitter." But as she spoke the words, she remembered how White had managed to somehow get all the way into the locker room without detection, steal her keys from her locker, and return them, having the balls to leave them on her desk in the bullpen while Elliot was there. Olivia knew she couldn't swear to her own safety, not when she was asleep. As disturbing as it would be, she'd have to put up with someone there, watching her while she slept.

Cragen shook his head to stave off any additional protest she might think of making. "No, absolutely not. I don't need Elliot ringing my neck because I let you out of my sight and something happened to you. It's easier for everyone this way."

She rolled her eyes at him, force of habit telling her she had to make a show of disliking Elliot's overprotective nature. Walking to the crib with Fin at her heels, though, she allowed a small smile to cross her lips at the thought of how much Elliot cared for her. Too much, apparently, to fool anyone at all. Thinking of Elliot helped calm her, relieving the stress of the current situation long enough for her to get to sleep, knowing that she'd be able to see him and touch him and simply be near him when she awoke.

It felt like no time at all before she heard her name, Fin's voice sounding almost annoyed. She sat up with a groan, rubbing one eye while glaring at him with the other. "I couldn't possibly have done anything to piss you off while I was asleep." Even as she said it, she was filled with terror that her occasional habit of talking while she slept had reared its ugly head, regaling Fin with bits of information about her and Elliot that he absolutely did not need. The familiar guilty feeling surrounded her, choking her as she yawned.

"Never took you for a heavy sleeper." He nodded at the clock. "I've been calling you for ten minutes."

Silenced by another yawn, she glanced at the windows, dismayed to see the bright sky through the panes of glass. "It can't possibly be time to get up. I don't feel like I slept at all."

With a shrug, Fin pushed open the door and waited for a still slightly groggy Olivia to join him. "You only got about an hour of sleep, Liv. It's probably worse than not sleeping at all."

Her legs felt like lead and her feet uncoordinated as she tried to keep in step with Fin. "Tell me there's coffee."

"I've been up here watching you sleep, Elliot's in lock-up, and Cragen's sworn the shit off for the week."

Olivia rolled her eyes and concentrated on not tripping down the steps. "Which means Munch made the coffee."

Fin was already pouring her a cup when she made it to his side. "Good thing about Munch's coffee is that it should keep you awake."

"Unless it eats through my mug before I swallow it." She dumped in double her normal amount of sugar and cream, hoping to at least get it down her throat. Munch's coffee usually made her gag and she didn't want to think about the effect it would have on her empty stomach. But she didn't want to fall asleep in the courtroom. And it wasn't like she could grab any sleep after that either. White was still out there somewhere, still fixated on her. His threat and his twisted smile locked in her memory as though she was watching the tape continuously.

Rolling her head to each side in an attempt to work out the kinks that sleeping in the crib's beds, even for just an hour, invariably caused, Olivia looked around the bullpen for an indication that anything had changed. There was always that ridiculous hope that the case had been cracked and the perp thrown behind bars while she was sleeping. Unfortunately, like all the other times she'd woken from an exhaustion-induced sleep at the precinct, little had changed. Some detectives who'd managed to get out the night before were back for the day, freshly pressed and clean shaven. Some detectives who'd stayed the night at their desks or chasing down leads sported wrinkled, half un-tucked shirts, blazers long abandoned, ties loosened. Everyone looked busy, buried in work, as they usually were. And sadly, no one had that short-lived triumphant look at having successfully accomplished anything at all.

She held her breath and poured back the rest of her mug, figuring it was better in the long run to get the caffeine into her system as quickly as possible. Cragen was heading for the door of his office, his eyes locked on her. His clothes looked as bad as the others', his once perfectly pressed suit as mangled as if it had been balled up on the floor for weeks. Guiltily, Olivia glanced down at her own clothing, knowing the jeans she'd been wearing for several days were starting to reveal their desperate need for a trip through the washer. Her sweater would have hidden wrinkles well, had it not spent two days wadded up in her backpack first, the by-product of packing at gunpoint. Deciding to take heart in the fact that at least she hadn't been wearing any makeup that could possibly have wound up consolidated in thick black semi-circles under her eyes, she offered her boss a small smile as she met him at her desk.

He glanced at his watch before looking back at her. "We should get going. You ready?"

Another poke by her friend guilt told her she should at least attempt to appear presentable, if not out of respect for Judge Petrovsky, then for Elliot, who would take one look at her bedraggled clothes and tangled hair, forget entirely about the reasons she hadn't been home since she'd left his side, and have a stroke for fear that she'd been attacked while he'd been unable to protect her. Instead she nodded, left her mug on her desk and patted at her hair as though that would help anything. "Uh huh."

Because she was, really, absolutely ready to wrap Elliot in a bear hug from which he might never be able to extricate himself.

Waiting became the name of the game. She waited while Cragen had a brief chat with Fin, Munch, and a few other detectives, demanding that they call him the minute they heard anything, should they hear anything while he was out. She waited while Cragen battled the miserable morning traffic to the courthouse. She waited while the various players for the morning docket took their places. She waited for Petrovsky to finally appear.

And then, though she was still waiting, she was perched at the very edge of her seat, shaking from nerves and apprehension, desperate for that side door to open. It eventually did, and Olivia waited some more with her heart in her throat, for Elliot to appear. When he did, accompanied by two officers flanking him, his eyes immediately searched the room, locking on Olivia's. The relief on his face was almost palpable.

Olivia was taking a mental inventory, watching her partner carefully for any signs of injury. The butterfly bandages were still on his cheek from his hospital visit and his upper body moved stiffly, due, she was sure, to a combination of day-old bruised ribs having had just enough time to swell or contract or whatever it was they did that made Elliot move like he was ninety the day after he got hit and a night of not sleeping on a cot in lock-up. He was even more rumpled than the rest of the people she'd surveyed, but she didn't care in the least. He didn't look any worse for wear after the night and she was glad that something had finally gone right. Elliot was too, apparently, because even as people began speaking and going through the motions of freeing him, he was staring back at Olivia, smiling the whole time.

Cragen's elbow poked her in the ribs. "He's fine. You can breathe now, you know."

She acknowledged the friendly teasing with a quirk of her lips, refusing to believe that she was a bit lightheaded. Whether because she'd been holding her breath the whole time or because she was simply too tired to remember to breathe, she didn't want to admit it. The last thing she needed was to be sent to the hospital or even just home, wherever that might happen to be, because she wanted to be with Elliot and she knew Elliot would be out busting heads until he found White. She needed to have her partner's back. God knew she'd already done enough damage to their relationship by not trusting him; she didn't need to compound it further by taking some time off while Elliot put himself in danger. White had been gunning for both of them, after all. And she intended to remind Elliot of that.

After a curt, somewhat abashed apology to both the court and Elliot, Greyleck stopped talking. Petrovsky looked annoyed with the ADA and Olivia was tempted to tell her to join the club. The judge turned toward Elliot, a stern look plastered on her face while she admonished him for not obeying the restraining order. Then the anger faded, a warm smile appearing, admitting she was glad Greyleck had been wrong and acknowledging that a restraining order certainly didn't seem important when compared to protecting a crime victim. And though Olivia didn't appreciate being referred to as a crime victim, she shared the smug grin on Elliot's face when the gavel slammed down.

She shoved past Cragen before he even managed to get to his feet, covering the short distance between herself and her partner, who hadn't taken a moment to even shake Carlisle's hand. She threw her arms around his shoulders, squeezing him tight, feeling the warmth and pressure of his arms sliding around her waist.

"You're ok. You're safe." His voice was soft, his breath warm against her ear.

She couldn't think of anything to say in response, couldn't verbalize how he'd been in danger too, in lock-up with all sorts of types who could have recognized him or just gone after him for something to do. She only nodded, enjoying her piece of heaven in his arms, wishing she could stay just like that forever.

Unfortunately the business of the court was far from finished and there remained a psycho killer stalking her, so far too soon for her liking, she felt Elliot pulling away, and her own arms followed suit. Turning back to face her boss, she winced at the frown she saw. But even as she hung her head, waiting for the reprimand he was sure to issue, she realized he was talking to someone, someone that wasn't her or her partner. Sure enough, she saw his phone to his ear when she lifted her eyes. She was so glad that he'd been too distracted by the phone to notice or comment on her unprofessional welcome back that she nearly hugged him too.

Except his grimace didn't fade as he slipped the phone back into his pocket. He inclined his head toward the doors of the courtroom, indicating they should follow. "Munch and Fin are outside. They got a hit on one of the Claytons' credit cards in a hotel." He paused for a moment, pulling his jacket back to reveal a second gun and badge, which he offered to Elliot. "I'd say welcome back, but I'm just going to ignore the fact that you violated a restraining order and kidnapped your partner at gunpoint, which I figure about squares us up."

Elliot was grinning as he nodded and attached his gun and badge back where they belonged. "Should I ask who the Claytons are?"

Olivia was yawning, so Cragen responded to the question. "Extremely unlucky bastards who inadvertently crossed paths with White."

"Just like the rest of us." Olivia fought back another yawn, hoping to keep Elliot from noticing how tired she was. She didn't want him to demand she sleep, not until she could curl up beside him, and since she wasn't yet ready to proclaim such a thing in front of her boss, she thought it would be best to keep the whole discussion from happening. She couldn't be sure, though, whether the way she kept bumping into Elliot's arm as she walked was due to lack of coordination from sleep deprivation or just a desire to reassure herself that he was there.

It didn't matter, she decided, because touching him served to keep her on her feet and remind her that Elliot was there and huggable at any time she deemed necessary. The thought made her smile, a bright, wide, happy smile she was too tired to hide.

As promised, Munch and Fin met them at the top of the courthouse steps. Munch flagged them down, waving a piece of paper. "Someone using Fred Clayton's Visa spent last night at The Big, Juicy, Red Apple Hotel."

Elliot grabbed the paper, looking over what Olivia determined to be the address from what she could see over his shoulder. "Sounds like a lovely establishment."

Fin smirked. "Let's put it this way, according to the front desk clerk, he was all too happy to accept the pseudo-Mr. Clayton because they rarely have any guests willing to pay for the entire night."

Olivia rolled her eyes. Fleabag motels always creeped her out, but it seemed appropriate enough. Creeps like Richard White belonged in creepy places. She was about to voice as much, but she didn't get the chance.

She didn't know what was happening. She couldn't even tell what order it was happening in. The world just started spinning around her. Gravity let go of her momentarily, only to remember her with a vengeance. Voices. Shouts. Bangs. A crushing weight crashing in front of her while she kept tumbling, working together with the unyielding weight behind her to rob her of her breath.

She couldn't see. She couldn't hear. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. But at least it seemed she'd stopped spinning.

After a moment, one clear shout rang out in the silence, Fin's unmistakable voice calling out 'clear.'

Only then did she have time to process what else she'd heard. Elliot. He'd been saying something just as she'd fallen, shouting it, she thought, but she hadn't quite understood at the time that he'd been yelling 'gun.' She hadn't understood, she realized, because he'd chosen the same moment to hit her, the palm of his hand connecting directly with her breastbone, his fingers tapping her collar bone as he sent her flying. The other sounds, shouts and screams and guns firing, were mixed up in the haze of falling, tumbling down the cement steps of the courthouse. Elliot had gone with her, either losing his balance when he shoved her or choosing to protect her again.

Finally able to identify the cold steps as the crushing weight atop her and Elliot as the unyielding weight behind her, she felt reasonably sure of which direction was up. She tried to shift, every muscle and bone in her body protesting the movement, blinding pain stealing her vision once again.

When she was able to open her eyes, she found most of the pain was concentrated around her right hip and arm. Careful not to jar them, she turned her head and used her left hand to grasp Elliot's.

"I think you missed your calling as a linebacker, El." She expected a chuckle at best, a groan at worst. Silence, however, she didn't know what to do with, not with her so recently scrambled brain. Fear motivated her to ignore the pain as she pulled herself free of Elliot's bulk. Fear that grew even more pronounced when Elliot didn't object or respond. As she shoved at his shoulders, turning him onto his back, she realized that one of her fingers was bent in an altogether unhealthy direction. But she couldn't quite feel the pain anymore and she wasn't entirely sure what good a pinkie finger was anyway.

A much more pressing concern was the red stain that was rapidly spreading across Elliot's shirt. She'd thought her brain wasn't working before; she didn't know the half of it.

"Elliot!" She leaned over him, gripping the top of his sweatshirt and shaking him. "Elliot!" She looked up, only vaguely noticing that the rest of the world seemed to be moving as slowly as she was. All eyes were still locked on something at the top of the stairs, a good fifteen feet from where Olivia needed them to be looking. "Call a bus!"

Her frantic shout drew the attention of others, people who moved in to surround her. Someone was checking over Elliot, putting pressure on the side of his chest from where the blood seemed to be stemming. Someone else was poking at her. She figured they were trying to figure out if she was bleeding or if it was all Elliot's, but she didn't say anything. She didn't actually know if she was bleeding, so she didn't think talking would be of any use. Besides, she was conscious and Elliot wasn't. That told her all she needed to know.

It was an eternity later when the ambulance crew finally appeared, loading her onto a stretcher despite her protests. One of the EMTs was a young woman, her sweet smile and soft voice promising Olivia that someone was taking care of Elliot. Olivia wanted to see it for herself, but the world was getting progressively foggier and she suspected that it had something to do with the warm, fuzzy feeling flowing into her from where the IV had been connected without her knowledge.

They were trying to kill her. Really. She already felt like she'd been hit by a truck masquerading around as Elliot. And she was already desperate enough to cry for want of seeing Elliot or even getting any news on him. Instead, all she got were sadistic nurses who assured her that everything was just fine while poking and prodding her and bending her uncooperative body in all sort of directions while they took x-rays. The doctor, another sadist she was sure, was telling her something about needing to stay overnight, blah, blah, policy, unconscious. She tried, in a voice that sounded like she'd been out drinking for a couple hours, to say she hadn't lost consciousness, but instead confessed that she didn't remember losing consciousness. It seemed like the same thing to her, but the doctor gleefully informed her that her memory loss might well indicate that she had lost consciousness. And off he went, scribbling on a tablet something that moments later wound up with her being wheeled to another room, quite a bit bigger than the x-ray room. A group of nurses and orderlies surrounded her, heaving her painfully onto a different bed. The nurse, a new member of her torture team, reminded her to stay as still as possible.

Olivia really wanted to bitch back that she wasn't about to fucking move, not with the amount of pain she was in. But she didn't manage to form the words before she felt the warm fuzzies start again in her arm. And like every time she tried, the world disappeared into blackness long before she could ask about Elliot.

The next time she awoke she decided without even opening her eyes that she was yanking the damn IV before they could knock her out again. But her right arm didn't respond to her mental command to move it towards the IV tubes and she was out of options. She winced as looked, temporarily blinded by the overhead lights which told her that her head had taken the same trip down the steps as the rest of her. Her right arm was in a cast, a particularly awkward one that reached from her wrist to her shoulder with a ninety-degree bend at the elbow. For the moment, all she could think about was exactly how impossible it was going to be for her to dress herself until it came off. Conveniently, the thought of getting dressed reminded her of getting undressed and thus someone she knew who was very good at helping her get undressed.

With Elliot once again at the forefront of her mind, she quickly assessed herself. Despite the fairly ludicrous amount of pain she was in, the only thing that seemed well and truly out of commission was her right arm, as well as the hand, which sported three fingers splinted together. Her hip hurt a whole hell of a lot, but she wasn't immobilized. It seemed like an invitation to her. Her left hand wrapped around the IV pole, the one she was stuck dragging with her until she found someone willing to pull it for her, which she knew wasn't likely to happen any time soon, and she used it as a crutch to lean on as she slipped off the bed. Her hip and leg started to throb as soon as she put weight on it, but pain aside, she seemed to be in working order. She would have liked to have a free right hand to close the back of the paper-thin white gown someone had put on her, but she decided she didn't care so much who caught site of her underwear as long as she got to see Elliot.

The fact that she was dressed much like and rather resembled, with the fresh purple bruise on half her face that she hadn't yet discovered and yellowed old bruises on her chin from her fall in the snow as well as the one from White's attack, a mental patient escaped her notice. The wobbly, groaning, half-conscious woman dragging a sheet with her IV pole, however, did not escape the attention of the nursing staff.

A very large, very tall, very thick man who Olivia could only assume was Elliot's co-linebacker stepped into her path. "Do you need help, ma'am?"

The tone of his voice indicated that she did need help and he would be happy to provide it by way of her IV bag. But when she snapped her eyes toward his to yell at him, the room swam traitorously around, leaving her with nothing to do besides abandon the IV pole and cling to his clean white uniform for support. Luckily, the man, Dennis according to his nametag, had no trouble supporting her. She would have laid money on him having no trouble supporting a bus in each hand.

"Let's get you back to bed."

"Elliot." Although she'd been aiming for a sentence, the act of speaking turned out to be far more complicated than walking.

"I'm Dennis, ma'am, but I'll help you out anyway."

She wanted to slug him for the condescending way he was talking to her, but she thought better of it since he was holding her up. "Wanna see El."

"Uh huh." He nodded as he more or less carried her back to her room. "Visiting hours are over for tonight, so you'll have to wait until tomorrow morning." Dennis tucked the unhappy patient back in her bed and left.

Exhaustion was creeping in, telling her that she wanted to sleep as much as everyone else wanted her to sleep, but she wasn't listening. Dennis had said it was evening. The last thing she remembered, it had been morning. She'd be damned if she was going to curl up and take a nap before she found out who and what had caused her missing time. And she'd kill if someone didn't take her to Elliot. She clearly remembered him bleeding and unconscious and that wasn't the good sort of mental image she wanted of her partner in her head as she went to sleep.

She groggily pushed herself back to her feet and took a moment to peek out her door for Dennis before she committed to a direction. She saw him, leaning on the nurses' desk, and so headed the other way. Following a loop in the tile with a diameter of maybe twenty feet, she stopped to lean on a wall to catch her breath. Her eyes were closed and Olivia wanted very much in that moment to take a little nap right there in the hallway.

A familiar snicker woke her from her short stupor. "Nice outfit."

Another familiar voice joined in the laughter. "I see London, I see France."

She snapped her head up to yell at the familiar voices that weren't making any sense. Instead of the faces that her head expected to connect with those voices, Dennis loomed before her, so tall she nearly lost her balance craning her head up to see him. "El."

Dennis shook his head. "Didn't I just put you back in bed? I can tell you're not going to be the cooperative sort." He reached out one of his behemoth paws and grasped her elbow.

She whimpered, partly because it was sore, partly because it might kill her to have to climb out of bed again, mostly because she felt like she'd never get to see Elliot. Dennis started to turn her around to face her room, but she caught the two faces she'd expected initially. Fin and Munch. Fin was holding a steaming Styrofoam cup; Munch had a bag of pretzels he was making faces at. She tried to twist her thoughts into a sentence, knowing her friends would help her if she could only convey her wishes.

"El!" It was all she could get out, but luckily, the weak, whiny way it came out got their attention.

And finally, they were moving forward, Fin wrapping his arm around her supportively while Munch flashed his badge at Dennis. "We'll take care of her," he promised.

Rather than telling her how Elliot was, or even better taking her to Elliot, they helped her back to her room. She couldn't even manage a syllable in her frustration, but she was still capable of being embarrassed for the tears that slid down her face. She stared helplessly as Munch while Fin disappeared behind the curtain dividing the room in half.

Munch smiled at her, reached out to pat her shoulder, but thought better of it and let his hand drop to his side. "It's ok, Liv. You don't have to be afraid." The man was clearly uncomfortable offering comfort, but he kept trying. "He's dead, Liv. He can't hurt you anymore."

She probably woke half the patients on the floor with the shriek that came out of her mouth. She started trembling, shaking her head as though it might make the news go away.

Fin reappeared and looked out the door in a distinctly paranoid fashion before he closed it. "Way to scare the shit out of her, man." He cuffed his partner on the back of the head and turned to Liv, nodding at the wheelchair he'd stolen from her roommate. "White is dead is what my brilliant partner meant to say. He tried to kill you, we killed him. Elliot's going to be fine."

Olivia was still shaking, unsure if she was actually hearing words Fin was speaking or if she was simply making them up because they were easier to accept. She checked back with Munch.

Munch nodded, offering a hand to help her back off the bed and into the chair. "Elliot is ok. He's up two floors. Took a bullet through the side, messed up his lung a bit and probably disintegrated what was left of his ribs, but he'll recover. I'd send a thank you note if I were you, saving your life and all." His previous words seemed to strike him suddenly, and his face contorted as he tried to take them back. "Oh, you thought I meant Elliot was dead. No, I thought you were afraid of White coming after you-"

Fin shoved Munch out of the way. "Shut your mouth before you manage to shove the other foot in there." He leaned down to wink at Olivia. "We figured you'd want to see Elliot before the doctors wanted you to see Elliot, so we stashed this chair in here while you were sleeping."

Thankful beyond words, she smiled her appreciation. Too tired to do anything besides clutch the blanket Munch threw over her lap, Olivia rode along quietly, half asleep, as Munch and Fin created what might have been a comical production, had she been awake, of sneaking her to Elliot's room. She yawned the whole time, hoping Elliot would be sleep so he wouldn't see her in her current condition. Munch had mentioned him saving her life and she wanted to ask him about that, particularly what had happened that prompted him to toss her down the stairs, but she knew there was no hope of making any sense in her current state. She just wanted, needed, to see him. Then she could make an attempt, short-lived though she knew it would be, to cooperate with the doctors.

Olivia had never been one to believe in god or a higher power or anything of the sort, not really, but she had to believe someone or something had been looking for her, for them, that day. She was sitting there, in pain but technically fine as far as she could tell, staring up at Elliot, grasping his warm hand in hers, knowing he was going to recover. He was awake and in no better shape to talk than she was, but she didn't need to hear his voice to read the happiness, the relief, on his face when Fin pushed her through the door.

She'd only smiled back, reached for his hand, and relaxed. He'd protected her, just like she'd known he would. He'd saved her. She didn't know exactly what had happened, but she knew he'd put himself in jeopardy to take care of her. As much as it cemented the love she felt for him, she was going to strangle him for it, once they were both healed.

Fin, who'd had the decency to leave them some privacy, rushed into the room and pulled at Olivia's chair. "Somebody's coming. We've got to go!"

She didn't bother to protest. No amount of time would be enough of a reprieve. She smiled at Elliot and nodded, expecting Elliot would release her hand. But with his eyes heavy and pupils pain-killer wide, he had other ideas. It obviously took all of his strength to speak, but he forced out words in a thin, raspy voice.

"I love you."

The guilt and embarrassment that had been following her around since their return faded away entirely. She didn't care that Fin was right there. She didn't care that she didn't have nearly the same amount of drugs in her system. She could have lost Elliot that morning without even knowing what was happening. She could have died just as easily. She wasn't about to take anything for granted.

So she leaned forward, squeezing his hand tightly in hers. "I love you too."

"All right, we really have to go before you break out the violins."

Olivia didn't argue as Fin wheeled her away, but she did look back, holding Elliot's eyes until the door closed between them.


	39. Epilogue

Epilogue

Over the next week, Olivia managed to fit the rest of the pieces together. Although no one knew what White's original plans had been, he'd run out of options that morning. Fred Clayton's credit card got declined when he tried to use it again, making him aware that they were closing in. Afraid of going back to prison before getting his revenge, he'd gone to the courthouse, probably knowing Olivia would be there for Elliot's hearing, apparently deciding that simply killing her was better than nothing. Elliot saw the gun first, shoving Olivia out of the way and getting hit in the process. Munch had been the lucky one to react to Elliot's shout first, landing two rounds in White's chest. Fin and Cragen had been a moment behind him, sending another three rounds through White's body. White was dead before Olivia and Elliot were done tumbling down the steps.

She'd spent two days in the hospital, suffering through evenings with Dennis and days with his minions. She got caught almost every time she tried to sneak up to Elliot's room, but, exactly as she'd expected, her repeated escape attempts helped convince the doctor that she was well enough to leave. She'd been getting further and further each time, the last time actually making it to Elliot's floor before she got sent back to her own room.

Once she was free, as free as the full length cast on her arm, a massive bruise that covered the entire side of her hip down to her knee, and being homeless allowed her to be. She voluntarily spent most of the next five days at the hospital, ironic considering her desperate attempts to leave, except that sneaking into Elliot's room and staying there until she was physically removed was her choice and not her doctor's.

Each day, Elliot's pain medicine was cut back a bit, until he was as crazy to leave as she had been. But rather than taking mercy on him and understanding he'd really had it with the gown and the nurses and the tyrants who kept throwing her out every night, she demanded he get better. His doctor told her on more than one occasion that Elliot had been terribly lucky and that a few inches either way would have certainly killed him. The words always made her stomach turn and her palms sweat.

Five days following her own release, a week from the day White had tried to kill her, Olivia found herself juggling the paper bag full of the cards and gag gifts and assorted crap that collects in a hospital room over the course of a week, a cumbersome plant of some sort that Kathy had sent her ex, and an array of Get Well Soon balloons his kids had delivered. She'd lobbied heavily for leaving the balloons or at least giving them to the pediatric floor, but Elliot insisted on keeping them because they'd been from his kids. She couldn't really argue with him, since they'd be cluttering up his apartment and because she was living there for lack of anywhere else to go.

Elliot was leaning heavily on her, his normal strength weakened by the recently patched hole in his side and a week of lying flat on his back.

But Olivia was so happy to have him home and safe and near her that she didn't mind, much, when he jostled her cast, sending shooting pains up and down her arm.

In keeping with his usual over-attentiveness to her, he noticed the grimace and kissed her cheek in apology. He held onto the stuff while she fished the key out of her jeans. She expected he'd be so thrilled to be home finally that he wouldn't have anything to say for the first hour at least, but two minutes after she'd pushed the door open, he plopped down on the couch, put his feet up on the coffee table and looked at her expectantly.

"What?" She was more flustered than she would have liked to admit with the way he was staring at her, which she was pretty sure was due to the fact that he'd finally noticed she hadn't been wearing a bra for a week.

His forehead furrowed while he looked for just the right words. "Is that my-uh," he paused to clear his throat, though it did nothing to change his husky voice, "my shirt?"

The t-shirt was huge on her and hung almost down to her knees, yet Elliot's eyes were locked right in the middle of her chest, which, she begrudgingly had to admit, appeared to enjoy his attention renewed attention. "What gave it away?" She pointed to the stitching above the pocket that read 'Stabler.' "Or was it the fact that it says 'Marine Corps' on the back?"

He shrugged, slowly pulling his eyes away to look anywhere but at her. "I just noticed."

She'd been wearing his shirts since she'd left the hospital. None of hers would have fit over her cast, even if she had been willing to salvage them from her apartment alone. Rolling her eyes, she sat down beside him, sliding herself into his side. "You try putting on a bra with one hand."

He grinned at her, the flush spreading from his cheeks down his neck at the idea of getting caught looking. "I'm not complaining." His fingers found their way to tangle in her hair as he leaned in for a kiss. "In fact, I'm pretty sure I'd be happy if you never wore one again."

She couldn't help but giggle. "Yeah, well, you might change your mind when my boobs hang down to my knees from not wearing one."

His arm tightened around her, squeezing her as tightly as their still battered bodies would allow. "Nope, not even then." His words were muffled as he turned toward her, his lips landing first on her cheek, then her chin, then her neck. "I swear, I'll never complain about you, not as long as you're willing to put up with me."

"So no more trying to send me to a psychiatrist for loving you?"

He chuckled, but returned his mouth to her skin. "I can still think you're crazy for it, but no, no more doctors. Please, no more doctors ever."

Happily claiming his lips with her own, she almost melted into him, until he shifted to get a better hold on her and bumped her arm. She sat back with a groan. "Damn it, El, that hurt."

He winced, offering another kiss on her cheek. "I know, I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." Giving up on any other ideas, tempting as they were, she rested her head against his chest. "Everything hurts. Taking a shower hurts. Sleeping hurts." She glanced up at him and raised an eyebrow. "And with the way you're holding your breath, I'm guessing you're hurting too."

He nodded unhappily, letting Olivia help him stretch out so there was no pressure on his side. "So I guess we'll have to wait, huh?"

Sighing in disappointment herself, she sat down on the floor in front of him, allowing him to rest his arm over her left. "Wonder what's on." She flipped through about a hundred channels before she looked back at him with a smirk. "Maybe we could both down a couple pain pills and go for it."

"Except we'd probably get halfway to the bedroom before we passed out."

She turned back to the TV, hoping another check of the possibilities would result in a better outcome.

"So, uh, Liv-"

The shy, hopeful tone left her to stare at him suspiciously. "What?"

"I guess that means you're not cooking, huh?"

She laughed at the thought. "After a week on hospital food you thought I'd whip up some culinary masterpiece, right?" She didn't wait for an answer before she handed him her phone. "Order a pizza and if you're good, I'll answer the door."

Despite his attempts to mask it, Elliot's growing discomfort became abundantly clear a few minutes after the pizza arrived. While Olivia had practically inhaled her first slice and half of her second, Elliot only picked at his. She didn't need to ask, knowing that if he was hurting too badly to eat he wouldn't argue. She fished through the bag they'd brought home, found his pills and dropped two into his palm.

His eyes were heavy a few minutes later and she turned to face him, only a few inches separating them while she held his eyes. "I'm really sorry, El, for not trusting you." Her voice choked up in her throat, guilt cutting off her words. He'd gone so far out of his way to protect her while she'd questioned his loyalty.

He moved his hands clumsily, finding her cheek and sliding his thumb across it. "It's not your fault." When she turned her head to kiss his palm, he smiled softly. "It's ok, Liv, really."

She nodded, pulling his hand from her face to squeeze it. "Get some rest. You're going to need all the energy you can muster up as soon as you're better." With a wink, she stood up and picked up the pizza box.

He chuckled as he settled back into the pillows. "You're going to make me work for it, huh?"

Smoothing a blanket over him, she nodded. "You did push me down the stairs and break my arm, you know."

"You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"

He was already asleep by the time she leaned over to kiss him. But she kissed him anyway, loving the fact that she could. Then she put the pizza away and headed to sleep herself, more than happy to dream of the not-too-distant future when Elliot would be joining her.

***  
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